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“What for you look that way to me?” — Page 14. 






DOTTY D I MPLES FLYAWAY 






* 











DOTTY DIMPLE STORIES 


* 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY 


BY 

SOPHIE-f MAY 

AUTHOR OF “LITTLE PRUOY STORIES*’ 

CWV- . 


3?llu^trateb 


BOSTON 






LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 




10 MILK STREET 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year ISfift, by 
EEE AXD SHEPARD, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 


Copyright, 1SD7, by Rebecca S. Clarke. 


A II Riyftttt Referred. 


Dotty Dimple’s Flyaway. 



\ 


TO THE 

LITTLE LINDSAYS 





% 




CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Beginning to Remember, .... 7 

II. Running Away to Church, ... 20 

III. Running Away to Heaven. ... 37 

IV. A Railroad Savage, . . . 5] 

V. East Again, .... . . 67 

VI. The Rag-Bag, .84 

VII. The Wicked Girl, 102 

VIII. “ Wheelbarrowtng,” 117 

IX. Tin-Types, 138 

X. Waking 154 

XI. Aunt Polly’s Story, 170 

XII. Full Nipperkin, ...... 189 

( 5 ) 







































































































































































DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


CHATTER I. 


BEGINNING TO REMEMBER. 

Katie Clifford was .a very bright child 
She almost knew enough to keep out of 
fire and water, hut not quite. She looked 
like other little girls, only so wise, — 0, 
sc very wise! — that you couldn’t tell her 
any news about the earth, or the sun, 
moon, and stars, for she knew all about 
it “ by fore.” 

Her hair was soft and fiying like corn- 
silk, and when the wind took it you would 
think it meant to blow it off like a dan- 
delion top. She was so light and breezy, 


8 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


and so little for her age, that her father 
said “ they must put a cent in her pocket 
to keep her from flying away ;” so, after 
that, the family began to call her Flya- 
way. She thought it was her name, and 
that when people said “ Katie,” it was a 
gentle way they had of scolding. 

Everybody petted her. Her brother 
Horace put his heart right under her feet, 
and she danced over it. Her “ uncle Ed- 
dard ” said “ she drove round the world 
in a little chariot, and all her friends were 
harnessed to it, only they didn’t know it.” 

Her shoulders were very little, but they 
bore a crushing weight of care. From 
the time she began to talk, she took upon 
herself the burden of the whole family. 
When Mrs. Clifford had a headache, Fly. 
away was so full of pity that nothing 
could keep her from climbing upon the 


BEGINNING TO REMEMBER. 


9 


sufferer, stroking her face, and saying, 
“0, my dee mamma,” or perhaps break' 
ing the camphor bottle over her nose. 

She sat at table in a high chair beside 
her father, and might have learned good 
manners if it had not been for the care 
she felt of Horace. She could scarcely 
attend to her own little knife and fork, 
because she was so busy watching her 
brother. She wished to see for herself 
that he was sitting straight, and not lean- 
ing his elbows on the table. If he made 
any mistake she cried, “ Hollis I ” in a 
tone as sweet as a wind-harp, though she 
meant it to be terribly severe, adding to 
the effect by shaking the corn-silk on her 
head in high displeasure. If she could 
correct him she thought she had done as 
much good in the family as if she had 
behaved well herself. He received all re- 


10 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


bukes very meekly, with a “Thank you, 
little Topknot. What would be done here 
without you to preserve order ? ” 

•v 

Flyaway could remember as far back as 
the beginning of the world, — that is to 
Bay, she could remember when her world 
began. 

It is strange to think of, but the first 
thing she really knew for a certainty, she % 
was standing in a yellow chair, in her 
grandmother Parlin’s kitchen! It was as 
if she had always been asleep till that 
minute. People did say she had once 
been a baby, but she could not recollect 
that, “ it was so many years ago.” 

Her mind, you see, had always been 
as soft as a bag of feathers; and nothing 
that she did, or that any one else did, 
made much impression. But now some- 
thing remarkable was taking place, and 
she would never forget it. 


BEGINNING TO REMEMBER. 


11 


It was this; she was grinding coffee. 
How prettily it pattered down on the floor ! 
What did it look like ? 0, like snuff, that 

people sneezed with. This was house- 
work. Next thing they would ask her to 
wash dishes and set the table. She would 
grow larger and larger, and Gracie would 
grow littler and littler; and 0, how nice 
it would be when she could do all the 
work, and Gracie had to sit in mamma’s 
lap and be rocked ! 

“ Fly wer’ll do some help,” said she. 
*Flywer’ll take ’are of g’amma’s things.” 

While she stood musing thus, with a 
dreamy smile, and turning the handle of 
the mill as fast as it would go round, 
somebody sprang at her very unexpect- 
edly. It was Ruth, the kitchen-girl. She 
seized Katie by the shoulders, carried her 
through the air, and set her on her feet 
in the sink. 


DOTTY DIMPLE^ FLYAWAY. 


12 

3 


“ There, little Mischief,” said she, “ you’ll 
stay there one while 1 We’ll see if we 
can’t put a stop to this coffee-grinding 1 
Why, you’re enough to wear out the pa- 
tience of Job !” 

Katie had often heard about Job ; she 
supposed it was something dreadful, like a 
lion, or a whale. She looked up at Kuth, 
and saw her black eyes flashing and the 
rosy color trembling in her cheeks. Cruel 
Ruth t She did not know Katie was her 
best friend, working and helping get din- 
ner as fast as she could. “ Ruthie,” 
sobbed she, u you didn’t ask please.” 

“ Well, well, child, I’m in a hurry; and 
when you set things to flying, you’re 
enough to wear out the patience of Job.” 

Job again. 

“You’ve said so two times, Ruthie: 

• Kow I don’t like you tall, tenny rate.” 


BEGINNING TO REMEMBER. 


13 


This was as harsh language as Katie 
dared use ; but she frowned fearfully, and 
a tuft of hair, rising from her head like 
a waterspout, made her look so fierce 
that Ruth seemed to be frightened, and 
ran away with her apron up to her face. 

The sink was so high that Katie could 
not get out of it alone, — “ course indeed 
she couldn’t” 

“ It most makes me ’fraid,” said she to 
herself : “ Ruthie’s a big woman, I’s a little 
woman. When I’s the biggest I’ll put 
Ruthie in my sink.” 

Very much comforted by this resolve, 
she dried her eyes and began to look 
about her for more housework. u Let’s 
me see ; I’ll pump a bushel o’ water.” 

There was a pail in the sink ; so, what 
should she do but jump into that, and 
then jerk the pump-handle up and down, 


14 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


till a fine stream- poured out and sprin* 
kled her all over ! 

“Sing a song, 0 sink-spout/’ sang she, 
catching her breath : but presently she 
began to feel cold. 

“ 0, how it makes me shivvle /” said 
she. 

“ Katie 1” called out a voice. 

“ Here me are !” gurgled the little one, 
her mouth under the pump-nose. 

When Horace came in she was standing 
in water up to the tops of her long white 
stockings. He took her out, wrung her 
a little, and set her on a shelf in the 
pantry to dry. 

“ Oho !” said she, shaking her wet plu- 
mage, like a duckling ; “ what for you 
look that way to me? I didn’t do nuf- 
fin— not the leastest nuffin ! The water 
kep’ a cornin’ and a cornin’.” 


BEGINNING TO REMEMBER. 


15 


“Yes, you little naughty girl, and you 
kept pumping and pumping.” 

“ I’m isn’t little naughty goorl,” thought 
Katie, indignantly ; “ but liuthie’s naughty 
goorl, and Hollis velly naughty goorl.” 

“ 0, here you are, you little Ilop o’-my- 
thumb,” said Mrs. Clifford, coming into 
the pantry ; “ a baby with a cough in her 
throat and pills in her pocket musn’t get 
wet.” 

Flyaway thrust her hand into her wet 
pocket to make sure the wee vial of white 
dots was still there. 

“ I fished her out of a pail of water,” 
said Horace ; “ to-morrow I shall find her 
in a bird’s nest.” 

Mrs. Clifford sent for some fresh stock- 
ings and shoes. Her baby-daughter was 
so often falling into mischief that she 
thought very little about it. She did not 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


16 

know this was a remarkable occasion, and 
the baby had to-day begun to remember. 
She did not know that if Flyaway should 
live to be an old lady, she would some- 
times say to her grandchildren, — 

“ The very first thing I have any recol- 
lection of, dears, is grinding coffee in your 
great-grandmamma’s kitchen at Willow- 
brook. The girl, Ruth Dillon, took me 
up by the shoulders, carried me through 
the air, and set me in the sink, and then 
i pumped water over myself.” 

This is about the way little Flyaway 
would be likely to talk, sixty years from 
now, adding, as she polished her specta- 
cles, — 

“ And after that, children, things went 
into a mist, and I don’t remember any- 
thing else that happened for some time.” 

Why was it that things “ went into a 


BEGINNING TO REMEMBER* 


17 


mist ” ? Why didn’t she keep on remem- 
bering every day ? I don’t know. 

But the next thing that really did hap- 
pen to Miss Thistleblow Flyaway, though 
she went right off and forgot it, was this : 
She persuaded her mother to write a letter 
for her to “ Dotty Dimpwill.” As it was 
her first letter, I will copy it. 

“ My dear Dotty Dimpwill first, then My 
Prudy : 

“I’m going to say that I dink milk, 
and that girl lost my pills. 

“I see a hop-toad. He hopped. Jen- 
nie took her up in his dress. 

“ And ’bout we put hop-toad in wash- 
dish. He put his foots out, sticetched , 
honest l” He was a slippy fellow. First 
thing we knowed it, he hopped on to her 
dress. Isn’t that funny ? 


18 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


“ Now ’bout the chickens ; they are trot- 
tin’ round on the grass : they didn’t be 
dead. We haven’t got any only but dead 
ones ; but Mis’ Gray has. 

“ I like Dr. Gray ever so much l 
“ Mis’ Gray gave me the kitty to play 
with. I bundled it all up in my dress, 
’cause I didn’t want the cat to get it. 
When I went home I gave it to the cat. 
[You got that wroten ?] 

“ There wasn’t any dead little kittens. 
She gave me a cookie, and I eated it, and 
I told her to give me another to bring 
home, ’cause I liked her cookies ; they was 
curly cookies. [Got it wroted, mamma?] 
“ Now ’bout I pumped full a pail full 
o’ water. 

“ [She knows we’ve got a house ?] 

“ Now say good by, and I kiss her a 
pretty little kiss. 0, no, I want her to 


BEGINNING TO REMEMBER. 


19 


come and see me, — her and Prudy, — two 
of ’em I I’s here yet. [’Haps she knows 
it!] 

“That’s all — I feel sleepy. 

(Signed) u From 

“ Dotty Dimpwell to Flywer.'* 

This letter “went into a mist,” and so 
did the next performance, which you will 
read in the following chapter. 


20 


DOTTY DIMPLES ELY AWAY. 


CHAPTER II. 

RUNNING AWAY TO CHURCH. 

The little Parlins came the next week. 
One Sunday morning Dotty Dimple stood 
before the glass, puttiug on her hat for 
church. Katie came and peeped in with 
her, opening her small mouth and drawing 
her lips over her teeth, as her grandfather 
did when he shaved. 

“ See, Flyaway, you haven’t any dimples 
at all !” said Dotty, primping a little. 
“Your hair isn’t smooth and curly like 
mine; it sticks up all over your head, 
like a little fan.” 

“0, my shole!” sighed Flyaway, scowl- 


RUNNING AWAY TO CHURCH. 


21 


ing at herself. She did not known how 
lovely she was, nor how 

“ The light of the heaven she came from 
Still lingered and gleamed in her hair.” 

“I wisht ’twouldn’t get out,” said she. 

“What do you mean by out?” 

“0, unwetted, and un-comb-bid, and un- 
part ed.” 

“That’s because you fly about like such 
a little witch.” 

“ I doesn’t do the leastest nuffin, Dotty 
Dimpwill l Folks ought to let me to go 
to churches.” 

“ I should laugh, Fly Clifford, to see you 
going to churches ! All the ministers would 
come down out of the pulpits and ask 
what little mischief that was, and make 
aunt ’Ria carry you home l ” 

“!No, he wouldn’t, tool I’d sit stiller’n 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


'l'£ 


two, free, five hundred mouses,” pleaded 
Flyaway, climbing up the back or a chair 
to show how quiet she could be. 

“ 0, it’s no use to talk about it, darling. 
C-ive me one kiss, and I’ll go get my sun- 
shade.” 

“ Can’t, Dotty Dimpwill ! My mamma’s 
kiss I’ll keep ; it’s aliind my mouf ; she’s 
gone to ’Dusty. 

“Well, ‘ keep it ahind your mouf,’ then; 
and here’s another to put with it. What 
do you s’pose makes me love to kiss you 
so?” 

“ 0, ’cause I so sweet,” replied Flya- 
way, promptly ; but she was not thinking 
of her own sweetness, just then ; she was 
wondering if she could manage to run 
away to church. 

“I’se a-goin’ there myse’f! Sit still’s a 
• — a — ” She looked around for a com- 



Running away to Church. Page 26 


T ^ *0 








RUNNING AWAY TO CHURCH. 


2'6 


parison, and saw a grasshopper on the 
window-sill: “still’s a gas-papa. Man 
won’t say nuffin’ to me, see ’f he does ! ” 

Strange such an innocent-looking child 
could be so sly ! She ran down the path 
with Horace, kissing her little hand to 
everybody for good by, all the while 
thinking how she could steal off to church 

O 

without being seen. 

“You may go up stairs and lie down 
with me on my bed,” said grandma, who 
was not very well. So Katie climbed upon 
the bed. 

“ My dee gamma, I so solly you’s sick ! ” 
said she, stroking Mrs. Parlin’s face, and 
picking open her eyelids. But after pat- 
ting and “ pooring ” the dear lady for some 
time, she thought she had made her “all 
well,” and then was anxious to get away, 
Mrs. Parlin wished to keep her up stairs 


24 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


as long as possible, because Ruth had a 
toothache. 

“Shan’t I tell you a story, dear?” said 
she. 

“ Yes, um ; tell ’bout a long baby — no, 
a long story ’bout a short baby.” 

“Wed, once there was a king, and he 
had a daughter — ” 

“ 0, no, gamma, not that ! Tell me 
’bout baby that didn't be on the bul- 
yushes; I don’t want to hear ’bout Mosey l" 

Grandma smiled, and wondered if peo- 
ple, in the good old Bible days, were in 
the habit of using pet names, and if Pha- 
raoh’s daughter ever called the Hebrew 
boy “Mosey.” She was about to begin 
another story, when Flyaway said, “Guess 
I’ll go out, now,” and slid off the bed. 
There was an orange on the table. She 
took it, held it behind her, and walked 


RUNNING AWAY TO CHURCH. 


25 


quickly to the door. Looking back, she 
saw that her grandmother was watching 
her. 

“What you looking at, gamma? ’Cause 
I’m are goin’ to bring the ollinge right 
back.” 

And so she did, but not because it was 
wrong to keep it. Flyaway had no con- 
science, or, if she had any, it was very 
small, folded up out of sight,* like a leaf- 
bud on a tree in the spring. 

“ Ask Rutkie to wash your face and 
hands, and then come right back to grand- 
ma and hear the story.” 

“ Yes um.” 

Down stairs she pattered. The mo- 
ment Ruth had kissed her, and turned 
away to make a poultice, she crept into 
the nursery, and put on Horace’s straw hat. 
Then she took from a corner an old cane 


26 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


of her grandfather’s, and from the paper* 
rack a daily newspaper, and started out 
in great glee. The “Journal” she hugged 
to her heart, and her short dress she held 
up to her waist, “ Cause I s’pect I mus’ 
keep it out o’ the mud,” said she, as anx- 
iously as any lady with a train. 

She had no trouble in finding the church, 
for the road was straight, but the cane 
kept tripping her up. 

“Naughty fing! Wislit I hadn’t took 
you, to-day, you act so bad I” said she, 
picking herself up for the fifth time, and 
slinging the “ naughty fing ” across her 
shoulder like a gun. When she came to 
the meeting-house there was not a soul to 
be seen. “Guess they’s eatin’ dinner in 
here,” decided Flyaway, after looking about 
for a few seconds. “ Guess I’ll go up 
chamer, see where the folks is.” 


RUNNING AWAY TO CHURCH. 


27 


Up stairs she clattered, hitting the bal- 
usters with her cane. Good Mr. Lee was 
preaching from the text, “ Remember the 
Sabbath day, to keep it holy.” and people 
could not imagine who was naughty enough 
to make such a noise outside — thump, 
thump, thump. 

“ Who’s that a-talkin ?” thought Flya- 
way, startled by Mr. Lee’s voice. “ 0, ho ! 
that’s the prayer-man a-talkin’. He makes 
me kind o’ ’fraid 1” 

But just at that minute she had reached 
the top of the stairs, and was standing in 
the doorway. 

“ 0, my shole I so many folks?” 

She trembled, and was about to run 
away with her newspaper and cane ; but 
her eyes in roving wildly about, fell upon 
grandpa Parlin and all the rest of them, 
in a pew very near the pulpit. Then she 


28 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


thought it must be all right, and, taking 
courage, she marched slowly up the aisle, 
swinging the cane right and left. 

Everybody looked up in surprise as the 
droll little figure crept by. Grandpa 
frowned through his spectacles, and aunt 
Louise shook her head ; hut Horace hid 
his face in a hymn-book and Dotty Dim- 
ple actually smiled. 

“ They didn’t know I was a-comin’,” 
thought Flyaway, “ but I earned l” 

And with that she fluttered into the 
pew. 

“ Naughty, naughty girl,” said aunt Lou- 
ise, in an awful whisper. 

She longed to take up the morsel of 
naughtiness, called Katie, in her thumb and 
finger, shake it, and carry it out But 
there was a twinkle in the little one’s eye 
that might mean mischief ; she did not 
dare touch her. 


RUNNING AWAY TO CHURCH. 


29 


“ 0, what a child !” said aunt Louise, 
taking off the big hat and setting Fly a* 
way down on the seat as hard as she 
could. 

Flyaway looked up, through her veil of 
flossy hair, at her pretty auntie with the 
roses round her face. 

“ Nobody didn’t take ’are o’ me to my 
house,” said she, in a loud whisper, “ and 
that's what is it l” 

“ Hush 1” said aunt Louise, giving Flya- 
way another shake, which frightened her 
so that she dropped her head on her broth- 
er’s shoulder, and sat perfectly still for 
half a minute. 

Aunt Louise was sadly mortified, and 
so were Susy and Prudy. They dared 
not look up, for they thought everybody 
was gazing straight at the Parlin pew, and 
laughing at their crazy little relative. Hor 


80 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


ace and Dotty Dimple did not care in 
the least ; they thought- it very funny. 

u They shan’t scold at my cunning little 
Topknot,” whispered Horace, consolingly. 
“ Sit still, darling, and when we get home 
I’ll give you a cent.” 

“ Yes um, I will,” replied poor brow- 
beaten Flyaway, and held op her head 
again with the best of therm Perhaps she 
had been naughty ; perhaps folks were 
going to snip her fingers ; but “ Hollis ” 
was on her side now and forever. She 
began to feel quite contented. She had 
got inside the church at last, and was very 
well pleased with it. It was even queerer 
than she had expected. 

“ What was that high up thing the pray- 
er-man was a-standin’ on ?” 

Flyaway merely asked this of her own 
wise little brain. She concluded it must 
be “ a chimley. ,; 


RUNNING! AWAY TO CHURCH. 


31 


•‘Great red curtains ahind him,” added 
she, still conversing with her own little 
brain. “ Lots o’ great big bubbles on the 
walls all round. .Big"s a tea-kiddle ! Lamps, 
I s’pose. There’s that table. Where’s the 
cups and saucers for the supper? And 
the tea-pot? 

“ All the bodies everywhere had their 
bonnets on ; why for ? Didn’t say a word, 
and the prayer-man kep’ a talkin’ all the 
time ; why for ? Fly wer didn’t talk ; no 
indeed. Folks mus’n’t. If folks did, then 
the mail would come down out the chim- 
ley and tell the other bodies to carry ’em 
home. ’Cause it’s the holy Sabber-day, 
— and that's what is it.” 

Flyaway’s airy brain went dancing round 
and round. She slid away from Horace’s 
shoulder, spread her little length upon tho 
seat, closed her wondering, tired eyes, 


82 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


sailed off to Noddle’s Island. A ffy, buzz- 
ing in from out doors, had long been try 
ing to settle on Flyaway’s restless nose. 
He never did settle: Horace kept guard 
with a palm-leaf fan, and “ all the other 
bodies” in the pew sat as still as if they 
had been nailed down ; so anxious were 
they to keep the little sleeper safely har- 
bored at Noddle’s Island. 

“ Such a relief l ” thought aunt Louise, 
venturing to look up once more. 

Flyaway did not waken till the last 
prayer, when Horace held her fast, lest 
she should make a sudden rush upon a 
speckled dog, which came trotting up the 
aisle. 

On the steps they met Ruth, with wild 
eyes, and face tied up in a scarf, hunting 
for Flyaway. Mrs. Parlin, she said, was 
going up the hill, so frightened that it 
would make her “ down sick.” 


RUNNING AWAY TO CHURCH. 


33 


When grandma got home, all out of 
breath, she found Flyaway looking very 
downcast. Her heart was heavy under so 
many scoldings. “ 0, Katie,” said grand 
ma, “ how could you run away ? ” 

“ I didn’t yun away,” replied Flyaway, 
thrusting her finger into her mouth ; “ I 
walked away ! ” 

“ There, if that isn’t a cunning baby, 
where’ll you find one ? ” whispered brother 
Horace to Prudy. “ Grandmother can’t pun- 
ish her after such a ’cute speech.” 

But grandmother could, and did. She 
took her by the little soft hand, led her 
to the china closet, and locked her 1 a, 

“ Half an hour you must stay there,” 
said she, u and think what a naughty girl 
you’ve been ? ” 

“ Yes um,” said Flyaway, meekly, and 

wiped off a tear with the hem of her frock, 

3 


o4 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


But the moment she- was left alone, her 
quick, observing eyes saw something which 
gave her a thrill of delight. It was a jar 
of quince jelly, which had been left by 
accident on the lower shelf. 

“ ’Cause I spect I likes um,” said she, 
serenely, after eating all she possibly could. 

At the end of half an hour grandma 
came and turned the key. 

“ Ilave you been thinking, dear, and 
are you sorry and ready to come out ? ” 

“Yes, um,” replied the little culprit, 
with her mouth full, and feeling very brave 
as long as the door was shut between her 
and her jailer. “ Yes, um, I’ve thought it 
all up, — defful solly. But you won’t 
mever shut me up no more, gamma Par- 
lin i ” 

“ Katie Clifford ! ” said grandma, sternly ; 
and then she opened the door, and faced 
Flyaway. 


RUNNING AWAY TO CHURCH. 


35 


* ’Cause — ’cause — ’cause,” cried the lit- 
tle one, in great alarm ; “ you won’t shut 
me up, ’cause I won’t never walk away 
no more, gamma Parlin ! ” 

Mrs. Parlin tried hard not to smile ; but 
the mixture on Flyaway’s little face of 
naughtiness, jelly, and fright, was very 
funny to see. 

The child noticed that her grandmoth- 
er’s brows knit as if in displeasure, and 
then she remembered the jelly. 

“I hasn’t been a-touchin’ your ’serves, 
gamma,” said he. 

Mrs. Parlin really did not know what 
to do, — Flyaway’s conscience was so little 
and folded away in so many thicknesses, 
like a tiny pearl in a whole box of cotton 
wool. How could anybody get at it ? 

“Gamma, I hasn’t been a-touchin’ your 
’serves,” repeated the little thief. 


36 


DOTTY DIMPLE *S FLYAWAY. 


“ All, don’t tell me that,” said grandma, 
sadly ; “ I see it in your eye ! ” 

“ What, gamma, the ’ serves in my eye ? ” 
said Flyaway, putting up her finger to find 
out for herself. “ ’Cause I put ’em in my 
mouf i I did.” 

Mrs. Parlin washed the little pilferer’s 
face and hands, took her in her lap, and 
tried to feel her way through the cotton 
wool to the tiny conscience. 

The child looked up and listened to all 
the good words, and when they had been, 
spoken over and over, this was what she 
said : — 

u O, gamma, you’s got such pitty little 
wrinkles 1 ” 


RUNNING AWAY TO HEAVEN. 


37 


CHAPTER III. 

RUNNING AWAY TO HEAVEN. 

About ten o’clock one morning, Flya- 
way was sitting in the little green cham- 
ber with Dotty Dimple and Jennie Yance, 
bathing her doll’s feet in a glass of water. 
Dinah had a dreadful headache, and her 
forehead was bandaged with a red ribbon. 

44 Does you feel any better ? ” asked Fly- 
away, tenderly, from time to time ; but 
Dinah had such a habit of never answering, 
that it was of no use to ask her any 
questions. 

Dotty Dimple and Jennie were talking 
very earnestly. 


38 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


“ I do wish I did know where Charlie 
Gray is ! ” said Dotty, looking through the 
open window at a bird flying far aloft into 
the blue sky. 

“ You do know,” answered Jennie, quick- 
ly ; “ lie’s in heaven.” 

“Yes, of course; but so high up — 0, 
so high up,” sighed Dotty, “ it makes you 
dizzy to think.” 

“ Can urn see we ? ” struck in little Fly- 
away holding to Dinah’s flat nose a bottle 
of reviving soap suds. 

“ Trudy says it’s beautiful to be dead,” 
added Dotty, without heeding the ques- 
tion ; “ beautiful to be dead.” 

“ Slitop ? ” cried Flyaway ; “ I’s a-talkin’. 
Does um see we f ” 

“ 0, I don’ know, Fiy Clifford ; you’ll 
have to ask the minister.” 

Flyaway squeezed the water from Dinah’s 


RUNNING AWAY TO HEAVEN. 


39 


ragged, feet, and dropped her under the 
table, headache and ail. Then she tipped 
over the goblet, and flew to the window. 

“ The Charlie Loy likes canny seeds ; 
I’ll send him some,” said she, pinning a 
paper of sugared spices to the window cur- 
tain, and drawing it up by means of the 
tassel. “ 0, dear, um don’t go high enough. 
Charlie won’t get ’em.” 

“Why, what is that baby trying to do?” 
said Dotty Dimple. 

“ Charlie’s defiul high up,” murmured Fly- 
away, heaving a little sigh ; “ can’t get the 
canny seeds.” 

“ 0, what a Fly ! IIow big do you s’pose 
her mind is, Jenny Vance?” 

“ Big as a thimble, perhaps,” replied 
Jennie, doubtfully. 

“ Why, I shouldn’t think, now, ’twas 
any larger than the head of a pin,” said 


40 


DOTTY DIMPLE S FLYAWAY 


Dotty, with decision ; “ s’poses heaven is 
top o’ this room ! Why, Jennie Vance, I 
; presume it’s ever so much further off ’n 
Mount Blue — don’t you?” 

“ 0, yes, indeed ! What queer ideas 
such children do have! Flyaway doesn’t 
understand but very little we say, Dotty 
Dimple ; not but very little.” 

Flyaway turned round with one of her 
wis" looks. She thought she did under- 
stand ; at any rate she was catching every 
word, and stowing it away in her little bit 
of a brain for safe keeping. Heaven was 
on Mount Blue. She had learned so much. 

“ But I knowed it by-fore,” said she to 
herself, with a proud toss of the silky 
plume on the crown of her head. 

“ Shall we take her with us ? ” asked 
Jennie Vance. 

Flyaway listened eagerly ; she thought 


RUNNING AWAY TO I1EAVEN. 


41 


they were still talking of heaven, when 
in truth Jennie only meant a concert which 
was to be given that afternoon at the 
vestry. 

“ Take that little snip of a child ! ” re 
plied Dotty ; •“ 0, no ; she isn’t big enough *, 
’twouldn’t be any use to pay money foi 
her!” 

With which very cutting remark Dottj 
swept out of the room, in her queenlj 
way, followed by Jennie. Flyaway threw 
herself across a pillow, and moaned, — 

“ 0, dee, dee I ” 

Her little heart was ready to bleed ; 
and this wasn’t the first time either. 
Those great big girls were always running 
away from her, and calling her “goosies” 
and • < snips and now they meant to climb 
to heaven, where Charlie was, and leave 
her behind. 


42 


DOTTY DIMPLE^ FLYAWAY. 


“But I won't stay down here in this 
place; I’ll go to heaven too, now, cerdi - 
ly ! ” She sprang from the pillow and 
stood on one foot, like a strong-minded 
little robin that will not he trifled with 
by a worm. “ I'll go too, now, cerdily." 

Ilaving made up her mind, she hurried 
as fast as she could, and tucked a stick 
of candy in her pocket, also the bottle of 
soap suds, and t^vo-thirds of a “ curly 
cookie " shaped like a leaf. 4 Charlie would 
be so glad to see Fly-wer ! ” She purred 
like a contented kitten as she thought about 
it. “ 'Haps they’ve got a bossy-cat up 
there, and piggy? and a swing. 0, my 
shole ! ” 

There was no time to be lost. Flya- 
way must overtake the girls, and, if possi- 
ble, get to heaven before they did. She 
flew about like a distracted butterfly. 


RUNNING AWAY TO HEAVEN. 


43 


u I must have some skipt ; her said me’s 
too little to pay for money and she curled 
her pretty red lip ; “ but I’m isn’t much 
little; man’ll want some skipt.” 

For she fancied somebody standing at 
the door of heaven holding out his hand 
like the ticket-man at the depot. She 
found her mother’s purse in the writing- 
desk, and scattered its contents into the 
wash-bowl, then picked out the wettest 
“ skipt,” a five-dollar hill, and tucked it 
into her bosom. This would make it all 
right at the door of heaven. 

“ Now my spetty-curls,” she added, hunt- 
ing in the “ uppest drawer” till she found 
the eyeless spectacles used for playing “ old 
lady.” With these on, Flyaway thought 
she could see the way a great deal better. 
Horace’s boots would help her up hill ; 
so she jumped into those, and clattered 


44 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


down the back stairs with Dinah under 
her arm. 

There was nobody in the kitchen, for 
Rutliie was down cellar sweeping. Flya- 
way caught her shaker off the “ short nail,” 
and stole out without being seen. Sitting 
in the sun on the piazza was the “ blue” 
kittie. “ Finkin’ ’bout a mouse, I spect,” 
said little Flyaway, seizing her and blow- 
ing open her eyes like a couple of rose- 
buds. 

“ Does you know where I’s a-goin’ ? Up 
to heaven. We don’t let tinty folks, like 
cats, go to heaven.” 

Pussy winked sorrowfully at this, and 
baby’s tender heart was touched. 

“ Yes, we does,” said she ; u but you 
musn’t scwatch the Charlie boy and she 
tucked the “ tinty folks” under her left 
arm. Then all was ready, and the little 
pilgrim started for heaven. 


RUNNING AWAY TO HEAVEN. 


45 


“ Urn’s on the toppest hill,” said she, 
Jooking at the far-off mountains, reaching 
up against the blue sky. One mountain 
was much higher than the others, and on 
that she fixed her eye. It was Mount 
Blue, and was really twenty miles away. 
If Flyaway should ever reach that cloud- 
capped peak, it was not her wee, wee feet 
which would carry her there. But the baby 
had no idea of distances. She went out 
of the yard as fast as the big boots would 
allow. She felt as brave ac a little fly 
trying to walk the whole length of the 
Chinese Wall. 

Where were Dotty Dimple and Jennie 
Vance? 0, they were half way to heaven 
by this time ; she must u hurry quick.” 

The fact was, they were “ up in the 
Pines,” picking strawberries. Nobody saw 
Flyaway but a caterpillar. 


40 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


“ 0, my shole ! there’s a catty-pillow — 
what he want, yon fink ?” 

Kitty winked and Dinah sulked, but 
there was no reply. 

The next thing they met was a grass- 
hopper. “ 0, dee, a gas-papa ! Where 
you s’pose um goin’?” 

Kitty winked again and Dinah sulked. 

Flyaway answered her own question. 
“ Diny, dat worm gone see his mamma.” 

Dinah did not care anything about the 
family feelings of the “ worms so she 
kept her red silk mouth shut; but she 
grew very heavy — so heavy, indeed, that 
once her little mother dropped her in the 
sand, but picking her up, shook her and 
trudged on. Presently she dropped some- 
thing else, and this time it was the kitty. 
Flyaway turned about in dismay. 

“ Shtop,” cried she, scowling through her 


RUNNING AWAY TO HEAVEN. 


47 


u spetty-curls,” as she saw three white paws 
and one blue one go tripping over the 
road. “ Shtop !” But the paws kept on. 

“ 0, Diny,” said Flyaway, as pussy’s tail 
disappeared round a corner, — u 0, Diny, 
her don’t want to go to heaven !” 

Then Flyaway sat down in the sand, 
and pulled off one of the big hoots 
“ Cm won’t walk,” said she; hut, before 
she had time to pull off the second one, 
a dog came along and frightened her so 
she tried to run, though she only hopped 
on one foot, and dragged the other. She 
lid not know what the matter was till she 
fell down and the boot came off of itself, 
after which she could walk very welL 
What cared she that both “Hollis’s” new 
boots were left in the road, ready to be 
crushed by wagon wheels? 

She kept on and kept on ; but where 


48 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


was that blue hill going to? It moved 
faster than she did. 

“Makes me provokin’,” said she, giving 
Dinah a shake. “ Um runs away and away, 
and all off !” 

Sometimes she remembered she was going 
to heaven, and sometimes she forgot it. She 
was on the way to the “ Pines,” and many 
little flowers grew by the road-side. She 
began to pick a few, but the thorns on the 
raspberry bushes tore her tender hands, 
and one of the naughty branches caught 
Dinah by the frizzly hair, and carried her 
under. What did Flyaway spy behind 
the bushes ? Dotty Dimple and Jennie 
Vance. They were eating wintergreen 
leaves ; they did not see her. Flyaway 
kept as still as if she were sitting for a 
photograph, picked up Dinah, gave her a 
hug, and crept on. 


RUNNING AWAY TO HEAVEN. 


49 


She went so quietly that nobody heard 
her. When she was out of sight she purred 
for joy. She had got ahead of the girls 
on the way to heaven ! She took the stick 
of candy out of her pocket and nibbled it 
to celebrate the occasion. “ A little hump- 
backed bumblebee ” saw her do it. He 
wanted some too, and followed Flyaway 
as if she had been a moving honeysuckle. 
For half a mile or more she “ gaed ” and 
she “ gaed,” all the while nibbling the 
candy ; but now she was growing very 
tired, and did it to comfort herself. Sud- 
denly she remembered it was Charlie’s can- 
dy. She held it up to her tearful eyes. 

“ 0, dee,” said she, “ it was big, but it 
keeps a-gettin’ little !” 

The hungry bumblebee, who was just 
behind her, thought this was his last chance: 

eo he pounced down upon Charlie’s candy ; 

4 


50 


DOTTY DIMPLE^ FLYAWAY. 


and being cross, and not knowing Flyaway 
from any other little girl, he stung her on 
the thumb. Then how she cried, “ ’Orny 
’ting me! ’Orny ’ting me!” for she had 
been treated just so before by a hornet. 
“ 0 my dee mamma ! My dee mamma !” 

But her “dee” mamma could not hear 
her; she was in the city of Augusta; and 
as for the rest of the family, they supposed 
Flyaway was playing “ catch ” with Dotty 
Dimple in the barn. 


A RAILROAD SAVAGE. 


51 


CHAPTER IY. 

“ A RAILROAD SAVAGE.” 

It now occurred to little Flyaway, with 
a sudden pang, that she must have come 
to the end of the world. “ Yes, cerdily l ” 
The world was full of folks and houses, 
* — this place was nothing hut trees. The 
world had horses and wagons in it, — this 
place hadn’t. “ 0 dee ! ” 

Where was the hill gone, on the top of 
which stood that big house they called heav- 
en, — the house where Charlie lived and 
played in the garden ? Why, that hill had 
just walked off, and the house too ! She part- 
ed the bushes and peeped through. Nothing 


52 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


to be seen but trees. Flyaway began to cry 
from sheer fright, as well as pain. “ Tis 
a deff ill day 1 I can’t stay in this day ! ” 

More trouble had come to her than she 
knew how to bear I but worst of all was 
the cruel stab of the bumblebee. She 
pitied her aching a fum,” and kissed it 
herself to make it feel better I but all in 
vain ; “ the pain kept on and on ; ” the 
“ fum ” grew big as fast as the candy had 
grown little. 

“ Somebody don’t take ’are o’ me,” wailed 
she; “somebody gone off, lef’ me alone!” 

She was dreadfully hungry. “ When was 
it be dinner time?” She would not have 
been in the least surprised, but very much 
pleased, if a bird had flown down with a 
plate of roast lamb in his bill, and set it 
on the ground before her. Simple little 
Flyaway ! Or if her far-away mother had 


A RAILROAD SAVAGE. 


53 


sprung out from behind a tree with a bed 
in her arms, the tired baby would have 
jumped into the bed and asked no ques- 
tions. 

But nothing of the sort came to pass. 
Here she was, without any heaven or any 
mother ; and the great yellow sun was 
creeping fast down the sky. 

“ I’m tired out and sleepy out,” wailed 
the young traveller, the tears rolling over 
the rims of her “ spetty-curls,”— “ all sleepy 
out ; and I can’t get rested ’thout — my — 
muvver ! ” 

She sat down and hid her head in her 
black dolly’s bosom. 

“ Diny , you got some ears ? We wasn’t 
here by-fore ? ” 

This was all the way she had of saying 
she was lost. 

The sky suddenly grew dark ; a shower 
was coming up. 


51 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


“ Where has the h wight sun gone? ” sa'i l 
Flyaway, with a shudder. 

She was answered by a peal of thunder, 
— wagon- wheels, she supposed. 

“ Here I is ! ” shouted she. 

Some one had come for her. Perhaps 
it was Charlie, and they meant to give her 
a ride up to heaven. A flash of light, and 
then another crash. Flyaway understood 
it then. It was logs. People were rolling 
logs up in the sky, on the blue floor. She 
had seen logs in a mill. Such a noise! 

Then she dropped fast asleep, and some- 
body came right down out of the clouds 
and gave her a peach turnover as big as 
a dinner basket, or so she thought. Just 
as she was about to eat it, she was awa- 
kened by the rain dripping into her eyes. 
She started up, exclaiming, “ If you pees 
um, 1 want some cheese um.” 



Lost in the Woods. — Page 56 . 





A RAILROAD SAVAGE. 


55 


But the turnover had gone! Then the 
feeling of desolation swept over her again. 
She had come to the end of the world, 
and dinner, and mother, and heaven had 
all gone off and left her. 

“ 0, Diny,” sobbed she, turning to her 
unfeeling dolly for sympathy. “ I’s free 
years old, and you’s one years old. Don’t 
you want to go to heaven, Diny, and sit 
in God’s lap? What a great big lap he 
must have ! ” 

A gust of wind lifted the frizzles on 
Dinah’s forehead, but that was all. 

“ 0 dee, dee, dee ! you don’t hear nuffin 
’t all, Diny,” said Flyaway — the only sen* 
sible remark she had made that day. It 
was of no use talking to Dinah ; so she 
began to talk to herself. 

“ What you matter, Fly wer Clifford ? * 


56 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


said she, scowling to keep her courage up 
“ What you matter ? ” 

And after she had said that, she cried 
harder than ever, and crept under the 
bushes, moaning like a wounded lamb. 

“I’m defful wetter, hut I’m colder’n I’s 
wetter ; makes me shivvle ! ” 

After a while the clouds had poured out 
all the rain there was in them, and left 
the sky as clear as it was before ; but by 
that time the sun had gone to bed, and 
the little birds too, sending out their good 
nights from tree to tree. Then the new 
moon came, and peeped over the shoulder 
of a hill at Flyaway. She sprang out from 
the bushes like a rabbit. 

“ 0, my shole ! ” cried she, clapping hei 
hands, “ the sun’s earned again ! A little 
bit o’ sun. I sawed it ! ” 

Inspired with new courage, she and 


A RAILROAD SAVAGE. 


57 


Dinah concluded to start for home; that 
is to say, they turned round three or 
four times, and then struck off into the 
woods. 


!Now you may be sure all this could not 
happen without causing great alarm at 
grandpa Parlin’s. When the dinner bell 
rang, everybody asked, twice over, “ Why, 
where is little Fly?” and Dotty Dimple 
answered, as innocently as if it were none 
of her affairs, — 

“Why, isn’t she in the house? We 
s’posed she was. Jennie Vance and I have 
just been out in the garden, under your 
little crying willow , making a wreath. 
Thought she was in the barn, or some- 
where.” 

“ But you haven’t been in the garden all 
the while.” 


58 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


“No 'm; once we went up in the Pines, 
— grandma, you said we might, — hut we 
haven’t seen Fly, — why, we haven't seen 
her for the longest while 1” 

Grace had dropped her knife and fork 
and was looking pale. 

“It was Susy and I that had the care 
of her, grandma; when you went out to 
see the sick lady, you charged us, and 
we forgot all about it.” 

“Pretty works, I should think!” cried 
Horace, springing out of his chair ; “ I 
wouldn’t sell that baby for her weight in 
gold ; but I reckon you would, Grace Clif- 
ford, and be glad of it, too.” 

Grandma held up a warning finger. “ I 
declare,” said aunt Louise, very much agi* 
tated, “ i never shall consent to have Maria 
go out of town again, and leave Katie with 
us. If she will try to swim in the watering- 


A RAILROAD SAVAGE. 


59 

trough, she is just as likely to take a walk 
on the ridgepole of the house.” 

Horace darted out of the room with a 
ghastly face, but came back looking re- 
lieved. He had been up in the attic, and 
climbed through the scuttle, without find- 
ing any human Fly on the roof, or on the 
dizzy tops of the chimneys, either. 

But where was the child? Had Ruth 
seen her? Had Abner? 

No ; the last that could be remembered, 
she had been playing by herself in the 
green chamber, soaking Dinah’s feet in a 
glass of water. The u blue kitty,” the only 
creature who had anything to tell, sat 
washing her face on the kitchen hearth, 
and yawning sleepily. Fly’s shaker was 
gone from the “ short nail,” and aunt Lou- 
ise discovered some bank-bills in a wash- 
bowl, — “Fly’s work, of course.” Bi}t this 
was all they .knew. 


60 


DOTTY DIMPLE S FLYAWAY. 


Grandpa searched the barn, Abner the 
fields, Ruth the cellar; aunt Louise and 
Horace ran down to the river. In half 
an hour several of the neighbors had joined 
in the search. 

“ I always thought there would be a last 
time,” said poor Mrs. Dr. Gray, putting 
on her black bonnet, and joining Grace 
and Susy. “ That child seems to me like 
a little spirit, or a fairy, and I never thought 
she would live long. She and Charlie 
were too lovely for this world.” 

“ 0, don't, Mrs. Gray,” said Grace. “ If 
you knew how often she’d been lost, you 
would not say so! We always find her, 
after a while, somewhere.” 

Horace, who had gone on in advance, 
now came running back, swinging his boots 
in the air. 

“ A trail ! ” cried he. “ I’ve found a trail ! 


A RAILROAD SAVAGE. 


61 


Who planted these boots in the road, if 
it wasn’t Fly Clifford ? ” 

“ Perhaps she has gone to aunt Mar- 
tha’s,” said Mrs. Parlin, u or tried to. 
Strange we did not think of that ! ” 

But aunt Martha had not seen her, nor 
had any one else. Horace and Abner weut 
up to the Pines, but the forest beyond they 
never thought of exploring ; it did not 
seem probable that such a small child 
could have strolled to such a distance as 
that. 

Supper time came and went. There was 
a short thunder-shower. The Parlins shud- 
dered at every flash of lightning, and shiv- 
ered at every drop of rain ; for where was 
delicate, lost little Fly ? 

Abner and Horace were out during the 
shower. Horace would have braved bur- 


G2 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLY AAV AY. 


ricanes and avalanches in the cause of hia 
dear little Topknot. 

“ There’s one thing we haven’t thought 
of,” said Abner, shaking the drops from 
his hat and looking up at the sky, which 
had cleared again ; “ we haven’t thought of 
the railroad surveyors l They are round 
the town everywhere with their compasses 
and spy-glasses.” 

It was not a had idea of Abner’s. He 

> 

and Horace went to the hotel where the 
railroad men boarded. The engineer’s face 
lighted at once. 

“ I wish I had known before there was 
a child missing,” he said. “ I saAV the 
figure of a little girl, through my glass, 
not an hour ago. It was a long way be- 
yond the Fines, and I wondered how such 
a baby happened up there, but I had so 


A RAILROAD SAVAGE. 


63 


much else to think of that it passed out 
of my mind.” 

About eight o’clock, Flyaway was found 
in the woods, sound asleep, under a hem- 
lock tree, her faithful Dinah hugged close 
to her heart. 

There was a shout from a dozen mouths. 
Horace’s eyes overflowed. He caught his 
beloved pet in his arms. 

“ 0, little Topknot I ” he cried. u Who’s 
got you ? Look up, look up, little Brown- 
brimmer.” 

All Flyaway could do was to sob gently, 
and then curl her head down on her broth- 
er’s shoulder, saying, sleepily, “Cold, ou’ 
doors stayin’.” 

“ Why did our darling run away ? ” 

“ Didn’t yun away ; I’s goin’ up tc 
heaven see Charlie,” replied Flyaway, sud- 
denly remembering the object of her jour- 


64 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


ney, and gazing around at Abner, Dr. 
Gray, and the other people, with eyes full 
of wonder “ Where’s the toppest hi 1 ? I’s 
goin’ up, carry Charlie some canny. ” 

The people formed a ime, and, as Prudy 
said, “ processed ” behind Katie all the way 
to the village. 

“ Is we goin’ to heaven ?” said the child, 
still bewildered. “ It yunned away and 
away, and all off!” 

“Ko, you blessed bady, you are not 
going to heaven just yet, if we can help 
it,” answered Di\ Gray, leaning over Hor- 
ace’s shoulder to kiss the child. 

Flyaway was too tired to ask any more 
questions. She let first one person carry 
her, and then another, sometimes holding 
up her swollen thumb, and murmuring, 
’Omy ’ting me — tell my mamma.” And 
after that she was asleep again. 


A RAILROAD SAVAGE. 


65 


Dotty Dimple, Susy, and Prudy were 
pacing the piazza when the party arrived, 
but poor grandma was on the sofa in the 
parlor, quite overcome with anxiety and 
fatigue, and Miss Polly Whiting was mourn- 
fully fanning her with a black feather fan. 
The sound of voices roused Mrs. Pari in. 
“ Safe ! safe!” was the cry. Dotty Dim- 
ple rushed in, shouting, “ A railroad sav- 
age found her ! a railroad savage found 
her !” 

In another moment the runaway was in 
her grandmother’s lap. All she could say 
was, “ ’Orny ’ting me on my fum ! ’Orny 
’ting me on my fum !” For this one 
little bite of a bee seemed greater to Fly- 
away Clifford than all the dangers she had 
passed. If grandma would only kiss her 
“ fum,” it was no matter about going to 

heaven, or even being undressed. 

5 


66 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


But after she had had a bowl of bread 
and milk, and been nicely bathed, she for- 
got her sufferings, and laughed in her 
sleep. She was dreaming how Charlie 
came to the door of heaven and helped 
her up the steps. 


EAST AGAIN. 


67 


CHAPTER V. 

EAST AGAIN. 

A whole year passed. Dotty Dimple 
became a school-girl, with a a bosom friend” 
and a pearl ring. Prudy, who called her- 
self “ the middle-aged sister,” grew tall and 
slender. Katie was four years old, and 
just a little heavier, so she no longer 
needed a cent in her pocket to kept her 
from blowing away. 

The Parlins had been at Willowbrook a 
week before the Cliffords arrived. There 
was a great sensation over Katie. She was 
delighted to hear that she had grown more 
than any of the others. 


68 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


“ I’m gettin’ old all over !” said she, 
gayly. “ Four — goin’ to be five ! Wish 
I was most six. Dotty Dimpul, don’t you 
wish you?s most a hunderd ?” 

“ 0, you cunning little cousin !” said 
Dotty, embracing her rapturously ; “ I wish 
you loved me half as well as I love you ; 
that’s what I wish. I told Tate Penny 
you were prettier than Tid ; and so you 
are. Such red cheeks ! But what makes 
one cheek redder than the other ?” 

“ 0, I eat my bread’n’ milk that side o’ 
my mouf,” replied Flyaway ; “ and that’s 
why.” 

“What an idea ! And your hair is just 
as fine as ever it was ; the color of my 
ring — isn’t it, Prudy ?” 

Flyaway put her little hand to her head, 
and felt the floss flying about as usual. 

“ My hair comes all to pieces,” explained 


EAST AGAIN. 


69 


she; “or nelse I have a ribbon to tie it 
up with.” 

“ Are you glad to come hack to Willow- 
brook, you precious little dear?” asked 
two or three voices. 

“ Yes ’em,” said Flyaway, doubtfully ; 
“ Y — es — um.” 

“ She doesn’t remember anything about 
it, I guess,” said Prudy, kneeling before 
the little one, and kissing the sweet place 
in her neck. 

“ Yes, I do,” said Flyaway, winking 
hard and breathing quick in the effort to 
recall the very dim and very distant past ; 
w yes, I ’member.” 

u Well, what d:> you ’member ?” 

“ 0, once I was grindin’ coffee out there 
in a yellow chair, and somebody she came 
and put me in the sink.” 

“ She does know — doesn’t she ” said 


70 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


Dotty. “ That was Ruthie ; come out in 
the kitchen and see her.” 

Rut when Flyaway first looked into Ruth’s 
smiling face, with its hlack eyes and sharp 
nose, she could not remember that she had 
ever seen it before. Abner, too, was 
strange to her. 

“ Come here,” said he, “ and I can tell 
in a minute if you are a good little girl.” 

Flyaway cast down her soft eyes, and 
sidled along to Abner. 

“ Here, touch this watch,” said he, “ and 
if you are a good little girl it will fly open ; 
if you are naughty it will stay shut.” 

Flyaway looked askance at Abner, her 
finger in her mouth, but dared not touch 
the watch. 

“ Who’d ’a thought it, now ?” said Ab- 
ner, pretending to be shocked. “ Looks 
to be a nice child ; but of course she isn’t, 


EAST AGAIN. 


71 


or she’d come right up and open the 
watch.” 

Flyaway thrust another finger in her 
mouth, and pressed her eyelids slowly to- 
gether. Abner did not understand this, 
but it meant that he had not treated her 
vvitli proper respect. 

“ Here, Ruth,” said he, in a low tone, 
“ hand me one of your plum tarts ; that’l] 
fetch her. — Come here, my pretty one, 
and see what’s inside of this little pie.” 

Flyaway was very hungry. She took a 
step forward, and held her hand out, though 
rather timidly. 

“ Rut she mustn’t eat it without asking 
her mamma,” said Ruth. 

“ "\es; 0, yes,” cried Miss Flyaway, 
opening her little mouth for the first time, 
and shutting it again over a big bite of 
tart ; “ I want to eat it and s’prise my 


mamma. 


72 


DOTTY DIMPLE S FLYAWAY. 


Abner laughed in liis hearty fashion. 
u Some of the old mischief left there yet,” 
said he, catching Flyaway and tossing her 
to the ceiling. “ Have you come here this 
summer to keep the whole house in com- 
motion ? Remember the Charlie boy — 
don’t you — that had the meal-bags tied 
to his feet ?” 

“ Did he? What for?” 

Flyaway had not the least recollection 
Df Charlie ; but Horace had talked to her 
about him, and she said, after a moment’s 
thought, — 

“ Yes, he washed the pig. Me and 
Charlie, we played all everything what we 
thinked about.” 

“ So you did, surely,” said a woman 
who had just come in at the back door, 
and begun to drop kisses, as sad as tears, 
on Flyaway’s forehead. “ Do you know 


EAST AGAIN. 


73 


who this is ? ” Flyaway looked up with a 
sweet smile, but her mind had lost all im- 
pression of her melancholy friend, Miss 
Whiting. “ Look again,” said the sad 
eyed stranger, who did not like to have 
even a little child forget her ; “ you used 
to call me the ‘ Polly woman.’ ” 

Katie looked again, and this time very 
closely. 

“ There’s a great deal o’ yellowness in 
your face,” exclaimed she, after a careful 
survey ; “but you was made so ! ” 

Miss Polly laughed drearily. “ So you 
don’t remember how I took you out of 
the watering-trough, you sweet lamb ! 4 1’s 

tryin’ to swim,’ you said ; 1 and that’s what 
is it.’ Here’s a summer-sweeting for you. 
dear; do you like them?” 

“ Yes ’m, thank you,” said Flyaway, “ but 
I like summer -sourings the best.” 


74 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


At the same time she allowed herself to 
be taken in Miss Polly’s lap, and won that 
tender-hearted woman’s love by putting her 
arms round her neck, and saying. “ Let 
me kiss you so you’ll feel all better. What 
makes you have tears in your eyes ? — tell 
me.” 

“ We’re good friends — I knew we 
should be,” said Miss Polly, quite cheerily. 
“ Look out of the window, and see that 
swing. How many times I’ve pushed you 
and Dotty in that swing when it seemed 
as if it would break my back 1 ” 

Flyaway looked out. There stood the 
two trees, and between them hung the old 
swing ; but the charm was forgotton. In 
the field beyond, her eye fell on an object 
more interesting to her. 

“ 0, 0,” said she, “ I don’t see how God 
could make a man so homebly as that 1 ” 


EAST AGAIN. 


75 


“ So homely as what ? ” 

“Why,” laughed Dotty, “ she means that 
scarecrow.” 

The corn was up long ago, hut one dire- 
ful image had still been left to flaunt in 
the sunlight and soak in the rain. 

“That isn’t a man,” said Prudy', “it’s 
only a great monstrous rag baby, with a 
coat on.” 

“ Put there to frighten away the crows,” 
added Miss Polly. “ When Abner dropped 
corn in the ground, the great black crows 
wanted to come and pick it out, and eat 
it up.” 

Flyaway frowned in token of strong dis- 
like to the crows. “ I wouldn’t eat gam- 
pa’s corn for anything in this world,” said 
she, — “ ’thout it’s popped ! ’Cause I donV 
like it.” 

Miss Polly laughed quite merrily. 


76 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


“ There,” said she, “ I’ve dropped a stitch 
in my side ; it never agrees with me to 
laugh. I must be going right home, too; 
but there is one thing more I want to ask 
you, Katie ; do you remember how you 
ran away, one day, and frightened the whole 
house, trying to climb up to heaven ?” 

Katie’s face was blank ; she had forgot- 
ten the journey. 

“You passed Jennie Vance and me in 
the Pines,” said Dotty, “and went deep 
into the woods, and a bee stung you.” 

“ 0, now I ’member,” said Katie, sudden- 
ly. “I ’member the bee as plain as ’tever 
’twas ! ” And she curled her lip with con- 
tempt for that small Flyaway, of long ago 
— that silly baby who had thought heaven 
was on a hill. 

“ I went up on a ladder when I was three 
years old,” said Prudy. 


EAST AGAIN. 


77 


u Did you ? ” said Flyaway. This was 
a consolation. “Well, I was three years 
old, too , I didn’t know ’bout angels — 
didn t know they had to have wings on.** 
Here Flyaway curled her lip* again and 
smiled. 

“ You are wiser now,” sighed Miss Polly. 
“You and I won’t try to go to heaven till 
our time comes — will we, dear ? ” 

Ivatie took Miss Polly’s large, thin hand, 
and measured it beside her own tiny one. 

“ Miss Polly,” said she, with one of her 
extremely wise looks, “ when you go up 
to God you’ll be a very little girl 1 ” 

“ Ah, indeed ! ” said Miss Polly, weaving 
the third pin into her shawl ; “ how do 
you make that out ? ” 

“Your body’ll all be cut off,” replied 
Katie, making the motion of a pair of scis- 
sors with her lingers ; “ all be cut right 


78 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


straight off; there won’t be nufffn’ left but 
just your little spirit I ” 

“ Since you know so much, dear, how 
large is my spirit ? ” 

Katie put her hand on the left side of 
the belt of her apron. 

“ Don’t you call that small, right under 
my hand a-beatin’ ? ” said she. “ ’ Bout’s 
big as a bird, Miss Polly. Little round 
ball for a head, little mites o’ eyes ; hut 
you won’t care — you can see just as well.’ 1 

“ It does beat all where children get such 
queer ideas — doesn’t it, Ruth?” said Miss 
Whiting. 

“ Didn’t you know it ? ” cried Katie, find- 
ing she had startled Miss Polly. “ Didn’t 
you know you’s goin’ to be little, and fly 
in the air j ust so ? ” throwing up her arms. 
u I want to go dreftully, for there’s a gold 
harp o’ music up there, and I’ll play on it; 
it’ll be mine.” 


EAST AGAIX, 


79 


44 You don’t feel in a hurry to die, 1 
hope,” said Miss Polly, anxiously 

Katie's eager face clouded. 44 Ho,” said 
elie, sorrowfully; 44 1 want to, but I hate 
to go up to God and leave my pink dress. 
I can’t go into it then, I’ll he so little.” 

44 You’ll be just big enough to go into 
the pocket,” laughed Dotty. 

44 Hush I ” said Miss Polly, gravely ; 44 you 
shouldn’t joke upon such serious subjects. 
Good by, children. Your house is full of 
company, and I didn’t come to stay. Here’s 
a bag of thoroughwort I’ve been picking 
for your grandmother; you may give it to 
her with my love, and tell her my side is 
worse. I shall be in to-morrow.” 

So saying, Miss Polly went away, seem* 
ins: to be wafted out of the room on a 

o 

sigh. 

The high-chair was brought down from 


80 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


the attic for Flyaway, who sat in it that 
evening at the tea-table, and smiled round 
upon her friends in the most benevolent 
manner. 

“ I’s growing so big now, mamma,” said 
she, coaxingly, “don’t you spect 1 must 
have some tea ? ” 

Grandmother pleaded for the youngest, 
too. “ Let me give her some just this 
once, Maria.” 

“ Well, white tea, then,” returned Mrs. 
Clifford, smiling; “and will Flyaway re- 
member not to ask for it again? Mamma 
thinks little girls should drink milk.” 

“ Yes ’in, I won’t never. She gives it 
to me this night, ’cause I’s her little grand, - 
girl . Mayn’t Hollis have it too, ’cause he’s 
her little grand-6oy ? ” 

“ Cunning as ever, you see,” whispered 
the admiring Horace to cousin Susy, who 
replied rather indifferently, — > 


EAST AGAIN. 


81 


“No cunninger than our Prudy used to 
be.” 

Flyaway made quick work of drinking 
her white tea, and when she came to the 
last few drops she swung her cup round 
and round, saying, — 

“ Didn’t you know, Hollis, that’s the way 
gampa does, when he gets most froo, to 
make it sweet ? ” 

No, Horace had not noticed ; it was 
“ Fly, with her little eye,” who saw every- 
thing, and made remarks about it. 

“0, 0,” cried Grace, dropping her knife 
and fork, and patting her hands softly 
under the table, “ isn’t it so nice to be at 
Willowbrook again, taking supper togeth- 
er? Doesn’t it remind you of pleasant 
things, Susy, to eat grandma’s cream toast ? ” 

“Reminds me,” said Susy, after reflect- 
ing, “ of jumping on the hay.” 

6 


82 


DOTTY DIMPLE^ FLYAWAY. 


“’Minds me of — of — ” remarked Flya- 
way ; and there she fell into a brown 
study, with her head swaying from side 
to side. 

“I don’t know why it is,’' said Prudy 
“but since you spoke, this cream toast 
makes me think of the rag-bag. Excuse 
me for being impolite, grandma, hut where 
is the rag-bag?” 

“ In the back room, dear, where it always 
is , and you may wheel it off to-morrow.” 

It had been Mrs. Parlin’s custom, once 
or twice every summer, to allow the chil- 
dren to take the large, heavy rag-bag to 
the store, and sell its contents for little 
articles, which they divided among them- 
selves. Sometimes the price of the rags 
amounted to half or three quarters of a 
dollar, and there was a regular carnival of 
figs, candy, and fire-crackers. 


EAST AGAIN. 


8& 


Horace was so much older now, that 
he did not fancy the idea of being seen in 
the street, trundling a wheel-barrow j hut 
he went on with his cream toast and made 
no remark. 


DOTTY DIMPLE 3 fLYAWAY. 


84 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE RAG-BAG. 

Next morning there was a loud call from 
the three Parlins for the rag-bag, in which 
Flyaway joined, though she hardly knew 
the difference between a rag-bag and a paper 
of pins. 

“I wish you to understand, girls,” said 
Horace, flourishing his hat, “that I’m not 
going to cart round any such trash for you 
this summer.” 

“ Now, Horace !” 

“You know, Gracie, } r ou belong to a 
Girls’ Rights’ Society. Do you suppose I 
want to interfere with your privileges?” 


TIIE RAG-BAG. 


85 


“ Why, Horace Clifford, you wouldn’t see 
your own sister trundling a wheelbarrow.” 

0, no ; I shan’t be there,” said Horace, 
coolly ; “ I shan’t see you. I promised to 
weed the verbena bed tor your aunt Lou- 
ise. Good by, girls. Success to the rag 
bag 

“ Let’s catch him !” cried Susy, darting 
after her ungallant cousin, but he ran so 
fast, and flourished his garden- hoe so reck- 
lessly, that she gave up the chase. 

“ Let him go,” said Grace, with a fine- 
lady air : “ who cares about rag-bags ? 
We’ve outgrown that sort of thing, you 
and I, Susy ; let the little girls have our 
share.** 

“ Yes, to be sure,” replied Susy, faintly, 
though not without a pang, for she still 
retained a childish fondness for jujube paste, 
and was not allowed a great abundance of 


86 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


pocket-money. “ Yes, to be sure, let the 
little girls have our share.” 

“ Then may we three youngest have the 
whole rag-bag ?” said Prudy, brightly, 
“ Dotty, you and I will trundle the wheel- 
barrow, and Fly shall go behind.” 

“ What an idea !” exclaimed Grace. “ I’ve 
seen little beggar children drawing a dog- 
cart. Grandma’ll never allow such a thing,” 
“ Indeed I will,” said grandma, tying on 
her checked apron. “Dog-carts or wheel- 
barrows, so they only take care not to be 
rude. In a city it is different.” 

“ Yes, gradma,” said Dotty, twisting her 
front hair joyfully ; “ but here in the coun- 
try they want little girls to have good 
times — don’t they ? Why don’t every- 
body move into the country, do you s’pose ? 
Lots of bare spots round here, — nothing 
on ’em but cows.” 


THE RAG-BAG. 


87 


“ Yes, nuffin’ but gampa’s cows/’ chimed 
in Flyaway, twisting her front hair. 

“ Louisa/’ said Mrs. Parlin, “ you may 
help me about this loaf of ‘Maine plum 
cake,’ and while you are beating the butter 
and sugar I Will look over the rag-bag. 
Dotty, please run for my spectacles.” 

When Dotty returned with the specta- 
cles, Jennie Yance came with her, pouting 
a little at the cool reception she had met, 
and thinking Miss Dimple hardly polite 
because she was too much interested in 
an old rag-bag to pay proper attention to 
visitors. 

“ Grandma, what makes you pick over 
these rags ? We can take them just as they 
are.” 

“ I always do so, my dear, and for sev- 
eral reasons. One is, that woollen pieces 
may have crept in by mistake. As we 


8a 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


profess to sell cotton rags, it would be 
dishonest to mix them with woollen.” 

“ Yes ’m, I understand,” said Jennie, who 
often spoke when it was quite as well to 
keep silent ; “ it’s always best to be honest 
— isn’t it, Mrs. Parlin ?” 

The rags were spread out upon the table, 
giving Flyaway a fine opportunity to scat 
ter them right and left. 

“ 0, here’s a splendid piece of blue rib- 
bon to make my doll a bonnet,” said Dotty. 

“ That’s another reason why she picks 
’em over,” remarked Jennie ; “ so she won’t 
waste things. Only, Dotty, that has got 
an awful grease-spot.” 

“ There, children,” said Mrs. Parlin, pres- 
ently, “ I have taken out a card of hooks 
and eyes, a flannel , bandage, and a shoe 
string. You may have everything else.” 

Dotty caught her grandmother’s arm. 


THE RAG-BAG. 


89 


u Please, grandma, don’t sweep ’em into 
the bag; let us look some more. I’ve just 
found a big Lisle glove ; if I can find anoth- 
er, then Abner can go blackberrying ; he 
says his hands are ever so tender.” 

“ And you thought he was in earnest,” 
said Prudy* “ While you are looking, 
I’ll go into the nursery and finish that 
holder.” 

Flyaway, having climbed upon the table 
had rolled herself into some mosquito net- 
ting, like a caterpillar in a cocoon. They 
were all so much interested, that grandma, 
in the kindness of her heart, did not like 
to disturb them. 

u You are welcome to all the treasures 
you can find, but as soon as the cake is 
made I shall want the table ; so be quick,” 
said she, looking out from the pantry, where 
she was beating eggs. 


90 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


“Yes, indeed, grandma, we’ll hurry; and 
may we have every single thing we like 
the looks of? now, honest.’ , 

“Yes, Dotty.” 

Then Mrs. Parlin and Miss Louisa talked 
about currants, and citron, and quite forgot 
such trifles as rag-bags. 

“Here’s another big glove,” said Dotty, 
“ not the same color, but no matter ; and 
here are some saddle-bags, Jennie. I’m 
going to be a doctor.” 

“ Saddle-bags, Dotty ! those are pockets.” 
Jennie took them from Miss Dimple’s hands. 
They were held together by a narrow strip 
of brown linen, and had once belonged to 
a pair of pantaloons. 

“I’m going to see if there isn’t some- 
thing inside,” said Jennie. “Why, yes, 
here’s a raisin, true’s you live. And here, 
in the other one, — 0, Dotty ! ” 


THE RAG-BAG. 


91 


But Dotty had run into the nursery to 
show Prudy a muslin cap. 

“ A wad of — " 

Jennie was determined to see what; so 
she unrolled it. 

“ Scrip,” cried she, holding up some 
greenbacks. 

u Skipt,” echoed Flyaway, who had come 
out of the cocoon and gone into the form 
of a mop, her head adorned with cotton 
fringe. 

Yes; a two dollar bill and a one dollar 
bill, as green as lettuce leaves. This was 
a great marvel. Columbus was not half 
so much surprised when he discovered 
America. 

“Mrs. Parlin, do you hear?” 

But Mrs. Parlin heard nothing, for the 
din of the egg-beating drowned both the 
shrill iittle voices. 


92 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


A sudden idea came to J ennie. Whose 
money was this ? Mrs. Parlin’s ? No j hadn’t 
Mrs. Parlin looked over the rags onc^ 
and said the children might have what was 
left '{ “ 1 You are welcome to all the treas- 
ures you can find , ’ that was what she 
said,” repeated Jennie to herself. “ I’m the 
one that found this treasure, — not Dotty, 
not Flyaway. This is honest, and I do not 
lie when I say it.” 

Jennie began to tremble, and a hot color 
flew into her cheeks, and added new lustre 
to her black eyes. “If I could only make 
Flyaway forget it,” thought she, with a 
whirling sensation of anger towards the in- 
nocent child, who knew no better than to 
proclaim aloud every piece of news she 
heard. “ I'll make her forget it.” Jenny 
hastily concealed the money in the neck of 
her dress. 


THE RAG-BAG. 


93 


“ Where’s that skipt ? that skipt ?” said 
Flyaway. 

“ Fly Clifford,” said Jennie, severely, 
u you've climbed on the table! Just think 
of it ! iTour grandmother doesn't allow 
you on her table. What made you get up 
here.” 

“ ’Cause,” replied Flyaway, seizing the 
kitty by the tail, and thrusting her into a 
cabbage-net, u ’cause I fought best.” 

“But you must get right down, this 
minute.” 

“ !N*o,” said Flyaway, shaking her head- 
dress of white fringe with great solemnity ; 
“I isn’t goin’ to get down.” 

“Ah, but you must.” 

Flyaway opened and shut her eyes slow* 
ly, in token of deep displeasure. “ I don’t 
never ’low little girls to scold to me,” said 
she. “You’d better call grandma; ’haps 
she can make me get down.” 


94 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


But it was not Jennie’s purpose to wai 
for that; she seized the Lttle one roughly 
by the arms, pulled her from the table, 
and hurried her into the parlor. 

Flyaway was indignant. “ Does you — < 
— feel happy?” said she, with a reproachful 
glance at Jennie. 

“ There, look out of the window, Fly- 
away, darling, and watch to see if Horace 
isn’t coming in from the garden.” 

M Can’t Hollis come, ’thout me watching 
him?” returned Flyaway, winking slowly 
again, for her sweet little soul was stirred 
with wrath. The memory of the “ skipt” 
had indeed been driven away, and she could 
only think, — 

“Isn’t Jennie so easy fretted! I wasn't 
doin' nuffin' , and then she jumped me right 
down. Unpolite gell! that’s one thing.” 

And Jennie was thinking, “ She nev- 


the rag-bag. 


95 


er’ll remember the money now, or, if she 
does, I don’t believe Mrs. Farlin will pay 
any attention to what she says.” Jennie 
was still very much excited, and wondered 
why she trembled so. 

“ I don’t mean to keep it unless it’s per- 
fectly proper,” thought she; “I guess I 
know the eighth commandment fast enough. 
1 shan’t keep it unless Dotty thinks best. 
I’ll tell her, and see what she says.” 

Jennie had often pilfered little things 
from her mother’s cupboard, such as cake 
and raisins ; but a piece of money of the 
most trifling value she had never thought 
of taking before. 

Leaving Flyaway busy with block houses, 
she ran to the nursery door, and motioned 
with her finger for Dotty to come out. 

“ What is it ? ” said Dotty, when they 
were both shut into the china closet ^ 


06 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


“ don’t you want my sister Prudj- to 
know ? ” 

Jennie replied, in a great flutter, “No, 
no, no. You musn’t tell a single soul, 
Dotty Dimple, as long as you live, and 
I’ll give you half.” 

“ Half what?” 

Jennie produced the money from her 
bosom, feeling, I am glad to say, very 
guilty. “ Out o’ those saddle-hag pockets 
out there,” added she, breathlessly ; “ true’s 
the world.” 

“ Why, Jennie Yance ! ” 

“ One had a raisin in and a button, and 
nobody but me would have thought of look- 
ing. You wouldnk — now would you ? My 
father says I’ve got such sharp eyes ! ” 

“ Il’m ! ” said Dotty, who considered hei 
own eyes as bright as any diamonds ; “ you 
took the saddle-bag right out of my hand. 


THE RAG-BAG. 


97 


How do you know I shouldn’t have peeked 
in?” 

Jennie did not reply, but smoothed out 
the wrinkled notes with many a loving pat. 

“ What did grandma say ? ” asked Dotty ; 
“wasn’t she pleased?” 

“Your grandmother doesn’t know any* 
thing about it, Dotty Dimple; what busi- 
ness is it to her?” 

Jennie’s tone was defiant. She assumed 
a courage she was far from feeling. 

Dotty was speechless with surprise, but 
her eyes grew as round as soap-bubbles. 

“ The pockets don’t belong to her, Dotty, 
and never did. They never came out of 
any of her dresses — now did they ? ” 

Dotty’s eyes swelled like a couple ot bub- 
bles ready to hurst. 

“Jennie Vance, I didn’t Know you’s a 
thief.” 


98 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


“You stop talking so, Dotty. She wai 
going to sweep everything into the rag- 
bag — now wasn’t she V And this money 
would have gone in too, if it hadn’t been 
for my sharp eyes — now wouldn’t it?” 

“But it isn’t yours, Jennie Vance — be- 
cause it don’t belong to you.” 

“ How, Dotty — ” 

“You go right off, Jennie Vance, and 
carry it to my grandma this minute.” 

The tone of command irritated Jennie. 
She had not felt at all decided about keep- 
ing the money, but opposition gave her 
courage. Her temper and Dotty’s were 
always meeting and striking fire. 

“ It isn’t your grandma’s pockets, Miss 
Parlin. If it was the last word I was to 
speak, it isn’t your grandmother’s pockets ! ” 

“ Jane Sidney Vance ! ” 

“ You needn't call me by my middle 


THE RAG-BAG. 


99 


name, and stare so at me, Dotty Dimple 
I was going to give you half!” 

“ What do I want of half, when it isn’t 
yours to give ? ” said Dotty, gazing regret- 
fully at the money, nevertheless. Three 
dollars ! Why, it was a small fortune ! 
If it only did really belong to Jenny ! 

“Your grandmother said everything we 
liked the looks of, Dotty. Don’t you like 
the looks of this ? ” 

“ But you know, Jennie — ” 

“ 0, you needn’t preach to me. You 
wasn’t the one that found it. If I’d truly 
been a thief, or if I hadn’t been a thief, 
it would have been right for me to keep 
it, and perfectly proper, and not said a 
word to you, either ; so there.” 

“ Jennie Vance, I’m going right out of 
the closet, and tell my grandma what you’ve 
said.” 


100 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


“ Wait, Dotty Dimple ; let me get through 
talking. I meant to buy things for your 
grandmother with it. 0, yes, I did — a 
silk dress, and cap, and shoes.” 

Dotty twirled her hair, and looked 
thoughtful. 

“Of course I did. Wouldn’t it surprise 
her, when she wasn’t expecting it? And 
Flyaway, too, — something for her. We 
wouldn’t keep anything for ourselves, only 
just enough to buy clothes and such things 
as we really need.” 

Before Dotty had time to reply there 
was a loud scream from the parlor. 

“Fly is killed — she is killed!” cried 
Dotty; but Jennie had presence of mind 
enough to tuck the bills into the neck of 
her dress. 

“Don’t you tell anybody a word about 


THE RAG-BAG. 


101 


it, Dotty. If you tell I’ll do something 
awful to you. Do you hear?’' 

Dotty heard, but did not answer. The 
fate of her cousin Flyaway seemed more 
important to her just then than all the 
bank-bills in the world. 


102 


DOi'lY DlMPLi/d FLYAWAY. 


CHAPTER VII, 

THE WICKED GIRL. 

Flyaway had only been climbing the 
outside of the staircase, and would have 
done very well, if some one bad not rung 
the door-bell, and startled her so that she 
fell from the very top stair to the floor. 
It was feared, at first, that several bones 
were broken and her intellect injured for 
life •, but after crying fifteen minutes, she 
seemed to feel nearly as well as before. 

“ If ever a child was made of thistle-down 
it is Flyaway Clifford," said aunt Louise. 

Still it was not thought best for her to 
fatigue herself that day by selling rags, 



“You can’t believe her for certain.” — Page 106. 


\M 




















































THE WICKED GIRL. 


103 


and the wheelbarrow enterprise was put off 
until the next morning. 

The person who rang the door hell was 
Mrs. Vance’s girl Susan, who called for 
Jennie to go home and try on a frock. 
Jenny did not return, and Dotty had a 
sense of uneasiness all day. The guilty 
secret of the three dollars weighed upon 
her mind. Should she, or should she not, 
tell her grandmother ? 

“ I don’t know but Jennie would do 
something to my things if I told,” thought 
she ; “ but then I never promised a word. 
Here it is four o’clock. Who knows but 
she’s gone and spent that money, and my 
grandmother never’ll know what’s ’come of 
it ?” 

This possibility was very alarming. “Jen- 
nie Vance doesn’t seem to have any little 
whisper insiue of her heart, that ticks like 


104 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


a. watch ; but I have. My conscience pricks ; 
so I know that perhaps it’s my duty to go 
and tell.” 

Dotty drew herself up virtuously and 
looked in the glass. There she seemed to 
see an angelic little girl, whose only wish 
was to do just right — a little girl as much 
purer than Jenny Vance, as a lily is purer 
than a very ugly toadstool. 

Well, Miss Dotty, there is some truth 
in the picture. Jennie is not a good child ; 
but neither are you an angel. There is 
more wickedness in your proud little heart 
than you will ever begin to find out. And 
wait a minute. Who teaches you all you 
know of right and Avrong ? Is it your 
mother ? Suppose she had died, as did 
Jennie’s mamma, when you were a toddling 
baby ? 

There, that’s all : you do not hear a word 


THE WICKED GIRL. 


105 


I say ; and if you did, you would not heed, 
0, self-righteous Dotty Dimple ! 

Dotty ran up stairs to find her grand- 
mother. 

“ Grandma,” whispered she, though there 
was no one else in the room ; “ something 
dreadful has happened. You’ve lost three 
dollars !” 

“ What, dear?” 

“ 0, you needn’t look in your pocket. 
Jennie found ’em in the rag-bag, and tried 
to make me take half ; but of course I 
never ; and now she’s run off with ’em ?” 

“ Found three dollars in the rag-bag ? 
I guess not.” 

“ Yes, grandma ; for I saw her just as 
she was going to find em’, in a pair of 
pockets. I should have seen ’em myself 
if she hadn’t looked first.” 

“ Indeed l Is this really so ? But she 


106 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


ought to have come and given them to 
me.” 

“ That was just what I told her, over 
and over, grandma, and over again. But 
she’s a dreadful naughty girl, Jennie Vance 
is. If there’s anything bad she can do 
she goes right off and and does it.” 

“ Hush, my child.” 

“ Yes ’m, I won’t say any more, only I 
don’t think my mother would like to have 
me play with little girls that take money 
out vf rag-bags.” 

Dotty drew herself up again in a very 
stately way. 

“ Jennie said she was going to buy you 
a silk dress and so forth ; but she does 
truly lie so, ‘ one to another,’ that you can’t 
believe her for certain, not half she says.” 

Grandma looked over her spectacles and 
through the window, as if trying to see 
what ought to be done’ 


THE WICKED GIRL. 


107 


“You did right to tell me this, my 
child,” said she ; “ but I wish you to say 
nothing about it to any one else: will you 
remember ? ” 

“ Yes ’m,” replied Dotty, trying to read 
her grandmother’s face, and feeling a little 
alarmed by its solemnity. u What you 
going to do, grandma ? Not put Jennie 
in the lockup — are you ? ’Cause if you 
do — 0, don’t you ! She said ’twas her 
sharp eyes, and she didn’t mean to steal, 
and ’twasn’t your pockets, and she prom- 
ised she’d give me half — yes, she truly 
did, grandma.” 

“ Go, dear, and bring me my bonnet 
from the band-box in my bed-room closet.” 

Then Mrs. Parlin folded the sheet she 
was making, put on her best shawl and 
bonnet, and kid gloves, and taking her 
sun ambrella, set out for a walk. There 


108 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


was a look in her face which made her 
little granddaughter think it would not be 
proper to ask any questions. 

Mrs. Pari in met Jennie Yance coming 
in at the gate. 

“ 0, dear,” thought Dotty, “ I don’t want 
to see her. Grandma says I’ve done right, 
but Jennie’ll call me a tell-tale. I’ll go 
out in the barn and hide.” 

The guilty secret had laid heavy at Jen- 
nie’s heart all day. As soon as her dress- 
maker could spare her, and a troublesome 
little cousin had left, she asked permission 
to go to Mrs. Pari in’s. 

“ Dotty thinks I meant to keep it,” she 
thought. u I never did see such a girl. 
You can’t say the least little thing but 
she takes it sober earnest, and says she’ll 
tell her grandmother.” 

Jennie stole round by the back door, 
and timidly asked for Miss Dimple. 


THE WICKED GIRL. 


109 


“ I’m sure I don’t know where she is,” 
answered Rutliie, with a pleasant smile ; 
“ nor Flyaway either. I have been living 
in peace for half an hour.” 

Ruthie made you think of lemon candy ; 
she was sweet and tart too. 

While Jennie, with the kind assistance 
of Prudy, was hunting for Dotty, Mrs. 
Parlin was in Judge Vance’s parlor, talking 
with Jennie’s step-mother. Mrs. Vance 
was shocked to hear of her daughter’s con- 
duct, for she loved her and wished her to 
do right. 

“ My poor Jennie,” said she ; “ from her 
little babyhood until she was six years old, 
there was no one to take care of her but 
a hired nurse, who neglected her sadly.” 

“I know just what sort of training Jen- 
nie has had from Serena Pond,” said Mrs 
Parlin ; “ it was most unfortunate. But 


no 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


you are so faithful with her, my dear Mrs. 
Vance, that I do believe she will outgrow 
all those early influences.” 

“ I keep hoping so,” said Mrs. V ance t 
repressing a sigh ; “ I take it very kindly 
of you, Mrs. Parlin, that you should como 
to me with this affair. I shall not allow 
Jennie to go to your house very often. 
You do not like to wound my feelings, 
but I am sure you cannot wish to have 
your little granddaughter very intimate 
with a child who is sly and untruthful.” 

“ My dear lady,” said ‘ grandma Parlin, 
taking Mrs. Vance’s hand, and pressing it 
warmly ; “ since we are talking so freely 
together and I know you are too generous 
to be offended, I will confess to you that 
if Jennie persists in concealing this money, 
X would prefer not to have Dotty play with 
her very much ; at least while her mother 


THE WICKED GIRL. 


Ill 


is not here to have the care of her.” It 
was hard for Mrs. Parlin to say this, and 
she added presently, — 

“ Please let Jennie spend the night at 
our house. She may wish to talk with me ; 
we will give her the opportunity.” 

Mrs Vance gladly consented. She had 
observed that Jennie seemed unhappy, and 
was very anxious to see Dotty again. She 
hoped she had gone to return the money 
of her own free will. 

When Mrs. Parlin opened the nursery 
door at home, she found Jennie building 
block houses, to Flyaway’s great delight, 
while at the other end of the room sat 
Dotty Dimple, resolutely sewing patch- 
work. 

u 0, grandma,” spoke up Flyaway, “ Jen- 
nie came to see me; she didn’t come to 
see Dotty, ’cause Dotty don’t want to talk. 


112 


DOfTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


There, now, Jennie, make a rat to put in 
the cupboard. B, goes first to rat.” 

Innocent little Flyaway! She had long 
ago forgotten her pique against Jennie for 
being “so easy fretted,” and jumping her 
down from the table. 

Wretched little Jennie! The new blue 
and white frock, just finished by her dress- 
maker, covered a heart filled with mortifi- 
cation. Dotty Dimple would not talk to 
her. It seemed as if Dotty had climbed 
to the top of a high mountain, and was 
looking down, down upon her. 

Dotty did feel very exalted to-day ; but 
there was another reason why she would 
not talk with Jennie: she might have to 
confess that grandma knew about the 
money ; and then what a scene there would 
be! So Dotty set her lips together, and 
sewed as if she was afraid somebody would 


THE WICKED GIRL. 


113 


freeze to death before she could finish her 
patchwork quilt. 

Mrs. Clifford, who did not understand 
the cause of Dotty’s lofty mood, took pity 
on Jennie, and tried to amuse her. After 
a while, Dotty came softly along, and sat 
down close to her aunt Maria, ready to 
listen to the story of the “ Pappoose,” 
though she had heard it fifty times before. 

She did not see Jennie alone for one 
moment. Grandma Parlin did. “Jennie,” 
said she, taking her into the parlor to show 
her a new shell, “ are you going with our 
little girls, to-morrow, 1o sell rags ? ” 

“ I don’t know, ma’am, I’m sure,” replied 
Jennie, looking hard at the sofa. She 
longed to make an open confession, and 
get rid of the troublesome money, but had 
not the courage to do it without some help 
from Dotty. 


8 


114 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


“0, dear,” thought she, “1 feel just as 
wicked with that money in my bosom! 
Seems as if she could hear it crumble. If 
Dotty would only let me talk to her first 1 ” 
But Dotty continued as unapproachable 
as the Pope of Rome. Eight o’clock came, 
and the two unhappy little girls went 
siowly up stairs to bed. Dotty, in her 
lofty pride, tried to make her little friend 
feel herself a sinner; while Jennie, ready 
to hide herself in the potato-bin for 
shame, was, at the same time, very angry 
with the self-satisfied Miss Dimple. She 
was awed by her superior goodness, but 
did not love her any the better for it. 
Why should she ? Dotty’s goodness lacked 

“ Humility , that low, sweet root, 

From which all heavenly virtues shoot.” 

46 Here, Miss Parlin,” said Jennie, angri* 


THE WICKED GIRL. 


115 


ly, as she took off her dress; “here it is, 
right in my neck. I should have gone and 
given it to your grandmother, ever so long 
ago, if you hadn’t acted sol” 

Dotty pulled off her stockings. 

“I ’spose you thought 1 was going to 
keep it. Here, take your old money 1” 

“ You did mean to keep it, Jane Sidney 
Vance,” retorted Dotty, as fierce as a this- 
tle; and finished undressing at the top of 
her speed. 

The money lay on the floor, and neither 
of the proud girls would pick it up. Jennie, 
who always prayed at her mother’s knee, 
forgot her prayer to-night, and climbed 
into bed without it. But Dotty, feeling 
more than ever how much better she wa3 
than her little friend, knelt beside a chair, 
and prayed in a loud voice. First, sha 
repeated the “Lord’s Prayer,” then “Gen* 


116 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


tie Jesus, meek and mild,” and “Now 1 
lay me down to sleep.” She was not talk* 
ing to her heavenly Father, hut to Jennie, 
and ended her petitions thus: — 

“ 0 God, forgive me if I have done 
anything naughty to-day ; and please for 
give Jennie Vance , the wickedest girl in 
this town.” 

Then the little Pharisee got into bed. 


WHEELBARROWING. 


Ill 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“ WHEELBARROWING.” 

“The wickedest girl in this town!” Jen- 
nie’s eyes flashed in the dark like a couple 
of fireflies. At first she was too angry 
to speak; and when words did come, they 
were too weak. She wanted words that 
were so strong, and bitter, and fierce, that 
they w r ould make Dotty quail. But all 
she could say was, — 

“ 0, dreadful good you are, Miss Parlin ! 
Good’s the minister ! Ah ! guess I’ll get 
out and sleep on the floor!” 

Dotty made no reply, but rolled over 
to the front of the bed, and Jennie pushed 


118 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


herself to the back of it. There the little 
creatures lay in silence, each on an edge 
of the bedstead, and a whole mattress 
letween. Sleep did not come at once. 

“ She’s left that money on the floor,” 
thought Dotty; “what if a mouse should 
creep down the chimney, and gnaw it all 
up? But she must take care of it herself. 
1 shan't!” 

And Jennie thought, wrathfully, “ Dotty 
says such long prayers she can't stop to 
pick up that scrip! If she expects me to 
get out of bed, she’s made a mistake; I 
won’t touch her old money.” 

About nine o’clock grandma Dari in came 
quietly into the room with a lamp. A 
smile crept round the corners of her mouth, 
as she saw the little girls sleeping so 
widely apart, their faces turned away from 
each other. 


WHEELBARROWING. 


m 


“ How is this ?” said she, as the two 
bills caught her eye. “ Of all the foolish 
children ! Dropping money about the room 
like waste paper 1” 

The light aw r oke Jennie, who had only 
just fallen asleep. “ Now is the time,” 
said she to herself; and without waiting 
for a second thought, which would have 
been a worse one, she sprang out of bed, 
and caught Mrs. Parlin by the skirts. 

“ That money is yours, Mrs. Parlin,” 
said she, bravely. “ Yours ; I found it 
in the rag-bag. Something naughty came 
into me this morning, and made me want to 
keep it ; but I’m ever so sorry, and never ’ll 
do it again. Will you forgive me ?” 

Then grandma Parlin seated herself in 
a rocking-chair, took Jennie right into her 
lap, and talked to her a long while in the 
sweetest way. Jennie curled her head into 


120 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


the good woman’s neck, and sobbed out 
all her wretchedness. 

“ She knew she was real bad, and people 
didn’t like to have her play with their 
little girls,, and Dotty Dimple thought she 
was awful ; hut was she the wickedest girl 
in this town ?” 

“ No ; 0, no !” 

“Wasn’t Dotty some bad, too?” 

“Yes, Dotty often did wrong.” 

Then Jenny wept afresh. 

“ She knew she was worse than Dotty, 
though. She wished, — 0, dear, as true 
as she lived, — she wished she was dead 
and buried, and drowned in the Red Sea, 
and the grass over her grave, and shut 
up in jail, and everything else.” 

Then Mrs. Parlin soothed her with kind 
words, but told the truth with every one. 

" No ’m,” Jennie said ; “ it wasn’t right 


WHEELBARROWING. 


121 


to take fruit-cake without leave, or tell 
wrong stories either ; she wouldn’t any 
more. Yes ’m, she would try to be good 
— she never had tried much. — Yes ’m, 
she would ask God to help her. Should 
you suppose He would do it ? 

“ Yes ’m, she would ask Him not to 
let her have much temptation. She did 
believe she would rather he a good girl — • 
a real good girl, like Prudy, not like Dot- 
ty ! — than to have a velvet dress with 
spangles all over it.” 

All this while Dotty did not awaken. In 
the morning she was surprised to see her 
little bedfellow looking so cheerful. 

“ I’ve told your grandmother all about 
it,” said Jennie with a smile. “ I knew 1 
did wrong, but I don’t believe I should 
have meant to if you hadn’t acted so your 
own self — now that’s a fact.” 


122 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S PLY A WAY. 


“ You haven’t seen my grandmother,* 
returned Dotty, not noticing the last clause 
of her friend’s remark. “ You dreamed it.” 

“ No, she came in here and forgave me. 
She’s the best woman in this world. What 
do you think she said about you, Dotty 
Dimple ? She said there were other little 
girls full as good as you are. There 1” 

“ 0 l” 

u Said you ‘ often did wrong,’ that’s just 
what,” added Jennie, correcting herself, 
and making sure of the “ white truth.” 

Step by step Dotty came down from the 
mountain-top, and, before breakfast was 
ready, had led her visitor through the 
morning dew to the playhouse under the 
trees, chatting all the way as if nothing 
had happened. 

It proved that the money belonged to 
Abner. He had missed it several weeks 


WHEELBARROWING. 


123 


before, and ever since that had been sus- 
pecting old Daniel McQuilken, a day la- 
borer, of stealing it. 

“I’m ashamed of it now,” said Abner to 
Ruth, “ though I didn’t tell anybody but 
you. I wish you’d mix a pitcher of sweet- 
ened water, and let me take it out to the 
held to old Daniel. I feel as if I wanted 
to make it up to him some way.” 

Ruth laughed ; and when Abner came 
into the house at ten o’clock, she had a 
pitcher of molasses and water ready for 
him, also a plate of cherry turnovers. 
Flyaway insisted upon toddling over the 
ground with one of the turnovers in her 
apron. 

“Man,” said she, when they reached the 
field, and she saw the Irishman with his 
tunny red and white hair, “ what’s your 
name, man ? ” 


124 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


lie wiped his face with his checked 
shirt-sleeve, and took a turnover from hef 
hand, bowing very low as he did so. 

“ Thank ee, my little lady ; sense you’re 
plazed to ask me, — my name’s Danuul.” 

“ 0, are you ? ” said Flyaway, looking 
up in surprise at the large anil oddly- 
dressed stranger. “ Are you Daniel ? My 
mamma’s just been reading about you. 
You was in the lions’ den — wasn’t you, 
Daniel?” 

Mr. McQuilken smiled at bareheaded, 
flossy-haired little Katie, and replied, with 
a wink at Abner, — 

“ Fa tli, little lady, and I suppose I’m 
that same Dannul ; but ’twas so long ago 
I’ve clane forgot aboot it entirely.” 

“ 0, did you ? Well, you was in the 
lions’ den, Daniel, but they didn’t bite 
you, you know, ’cause you prayed so long 


WIIEELBARROWING. 


125 


and bo loud, with your winners up; and 
then God wouldn't iet 'em bite." 

Old Daniel laid both his huge hands 
on Katie's head. 

“ Swate little chirrub,” said he, 64 don’t 
she look saintish ?" 

Katie moved away ; she did not like to 
have her hair pulled, and Daniel was un- 
consciously drawing it through the big 
cracks in his fingers, as if he was waxing 
silk. 

“ I guess I’ll go homo now,’’ said she, 
with a timid glance at the man whom the 
lions did not bite ; “ they’ll be spectin’ 
me." 

Abner and Daniel both watched the tiny 
figure across the fields till Ruth came out 
to meet it, and it fluttered into the east 
door of the house. 

“There, she’s safe," said Abner; “she 


126 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


needs as much looking after as a young 
turkey.” 

“ She runs like a little sperrit, blis3 her 
swate eyes,” said Daniel. “I had one as 
pooty as her, hut she’s at Mary’s fate, 
Hi wen rist her sowl l ” 

The moment Flyaway reached the house, 
she rushed into the parlor to tell her 
mother the news. 

“ The man you readed about in the 
book, mamma, he’s out there l Daniel, 
that the lions didn’t bite, mamma, ’cause 
he prayed so long and so loud with his 
winners up; he’s out there — got a hat on.” 

“ 0, no, my child; it is thousands of 
years since Daniel was in the lions’ den ; 
he died long and long ago.” 

“ But he said he did, mamma; lie ‘told 
me so. I fought he was dead, mamma, 
but he said he wasn’t.” 


WII EELB ARROWING- 


1*7 


Mrs. Clifford shook her head. “ I dare 
say his name is Daniel, but he was never 
in a lion's den.” 

Flyaway opened and closed her eyes in 
the slowest and most impressive mannci 
“ Mamma,” said she, solemnly, “ does — 
folks— tell— lies?” 

It was an entirely new idea to the in 
nocent child: it stamped itself upon li el- 
mind like a motto on warm sealing-wax, 
“ Folks — does — tell — lies.” 

Mrs. Clifford was sorry to see the look 
of distrust on the young face. 

“ Listen to me, little Flyaway. I think 
the man was in sport ; he was only playing 
with you, as Horace does sometimes, when 
he calls himself your horse.” 

Flyaway said no more, hut she pressed 
her eyelids together again, and felt that 
she had been trifled with. Half an hour 


DOTTlt DIMPLE'S YlYAWAY. 


afterwards Prudy heard her repeating, 
slowly, to herself, “ Folks — does — tell — ■ 
lies.” 

“ Why, here she is,” called Dotty from 
the piazza ; “ come, Fly ; we’re going wheel- 
harrowing.” 

“ Wait a minute, cousin Dotty,” said 
Mrs. Clifford ; “ Flyaway must put on a 
clean frock ; she is not coming home with 
you, but you are to leave her at aunt 
Martha’s. I shall meet her there at din- 
ner time.” 

u 0, mamma, may I ? I love you a hun- 
dred rooms full. Let me go bring my 
buttoncr bootner quick’s a minute.” 

Flyaway was not long in getting ready. 
She was never long about anything. 

“ You said we might have all the money, 
we three — didn’t you, grandma ? ” asked 
Dotty again, at the last moment, thinking 


WHEELBARROWING. 


129 


how glad she was Jennie had gone home, 
and would not claim a share. 

“Yes,” replied patient grandma for the 
fifth time ; “ you may do anything you like 
with it, except to buy colored candy.” 

As they were trundling the wheelbarrow 
out of the yard, Horace came up from the 
garden. 

“ Prudy,” said he, with rather a shame- 
faced glance at his favorite cousin, “you 
girls will cut a pretty figure, . parading 
through the streets like a gang of pcdlers. 
Come, let me be the driver.” 

“ 0, we thought you couldn’t leave your 
flower-beds, sir,” replied Prudy, sweeping 
a courtesy. 

“Well, the weeds are pretty tough, 
ma’am ; roots ’way down in China, and the 
Emperor objects to parting with ’em ; 
but—” 


130 


DOTTY - DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


u Poh! we don’t need any boys,” cried 
the self-sustained Miss Dimple ; “ if your 
hands are too soft, Prudy, you mustn’t 
push. Wait and see what Dotty Dimple 
can do.” 

“ 0, then, if you spurn me and my offer, 
good by. I suppose my little Topknot 
goes for surplusage ,” said Horace, who 
liked now and then to puzzle Dotty with 
a new word. He meant that Flyaway was 
of no use, but rather in the way. 

“ Ho, she needn’t do any such thing,” 
returned Dotty. “Jump in, Fly, and sit 
on the bag.” And off moved the gay little 
party, “the middle-aged sister” laughing 
so she could hardly push, Flyaway dancing 
up and down on the rag-bag, like a hum- 
ming-bird balancing itself on a twig ; Grace 
and Susy looking down from the “ green 
chamber ” window, and saying to each 


WHEELBARROWING. 


131 


other, with wounded family pxdde, “Should 
you think grandma would allow it ?” Out 
in the street the young rag-merchants were 
greeted by a cow lowing dismally. Flya- 
way, in her rustic carriage, felt as secure 
as the fabled “ kid on the roof of a house 
so she called out, “ Don’t cry, old cow ; I 
’shamed o’ you.” 

At this Prudy and Dotty laughed harder 
than ever. 

“ ’Sh right up, old cow,” said Flyaway, 
standing on her “ tipsy -toes,” and making 
a threatening gesture with her little arms ; 
u ’Sli right up ! — 0, why don’t that cow 
mind in a minute ?” 

In her earnestness the little girl pushed 
the bag to one side, and Prudy and Dotty, 
shaking with laughter, tipped over the 
wheelbarrow. Ho harm was done except 
to give Flyaway a dust-bath in her nice 


132 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


clean frock. Just as they were struggling 
with the bag, to get it in again, they were 
overtaken by a droll-looking equipage. It 
w r as a long house on wheels, and instantly 
reminded Dotty of Noah’s ark. 

“ 0, a house a-ridin’ ! a house a-ridin’ ! ” 
exclaimed Flyaway, gazing after it with 
the greatest astonishment. 

Dotty thought the world was going topsy- 
turvy. She looked at the trees to see if 
they stood fast in the ground. But Prudy 
explained it as soon as she could stop 
laughing. 

“ Only a photograph saloon,” said she. 
“ Didn’t you ever see one before ? We 
don’t have them in the city going round 
so, but things are different in the country. 
Let’s watch and see where it stops.” 

“ 0 dear me,” said Dotty ; “ I shouldn’t 
want to live in a house that couldn’t stand 


WHEELBA BROWING. 


133 


still ! Stove tipping over, and the ginger* 
bread falling out of the oven ! There, 1 
declare !” 

The look of wonder on Dotty’s face was 
so amusing that Prudy was obliged to 
hold on to her sides. 

“ There, look l” said she ; “ it has stopped 
down by the corner. Now the man can 
bake his gingerbread if he wants to, and 
the stove won’t tip over. Jump in, Flya- 
way, and finish your ride.” 

“ No-o,” said Flyaway, wavering between 
her fear of the cow, some yards ahead, 
and her fear of the rocking, unsteady 
wheelbarrow. “ Guess I won’t get in no 
more, Prudy ; it wearies me.” 

“ Wearies you ?” 

“Yes : don’t you know what 1 wearies ’ 
means, Prudy ? It means it makes me a 
* — a — little — scared !” 


134 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


And in her “ weariness ” Flyaway nestled 
between her two cousins, and kept fast 
hold of their skirts till the cow was safely 
passed and the red store reached. 

“ Bravo !” exclaimed Mr. Bradley, the 
merchant, as he came out and dragged the 
rag-bag into the store ; “ so you’ve taken 
the business into your own hands, my lit- 
tle women ? Ah, this is a progressive 
age? Walk in — walk in.” 

Prudy blushed, Dotty smiled, and Fly- 
away took off her hat, as she usually did 
when she did not know what else to do. 

“ Take some seats, young ladies,” said 
Mr. Bradley, placing three chairs in a row, 
and bowing as if to the most distinguished 
visitors. Two or three men, who were 
lounging about the counter, looked on with 
a smile. Dotty was very well satisfied, 
for she enjoyed attention ; but Prudy, who 



Wheklbarronving. Page 131 



































































WHEELBARROWING. 


135 


was older, and had a more delicate sense 
of propriety, blushed and cast down her 
eyes. She had thought nothing of driving 
a wheelbarrow through the street, but now, 
for the first time, a feeling of mortifica- 
tion came over her. If Mr. Bradley would 
only keep quiet I 

“ A fine morning, my young friends ! 
Bather warm, to be sure. And so you 
have brought rags to sell? Would you 
like the money for them, or do you think 
we can make a trade with some articles 
out of the store ? ” 

“ Grandma said we could have the money 
between us, we three,” replied Dotty, with 
refreshing frankness, “ and buy anything we 
please except red and yellow candy.” 

“ I want a music” said Flyaway, in an 
eager whisper ; “an usic, and a ollinge, 
and a pig.” 


136 DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 

“Hush!” said Prudy, for the man with 
a piece of court-plaster on his cheek was 
certainly laughing. 

Mr. Bradley took the bag into another 
room to weigh it. A boy was in there, 
drawing molasses. “ James,” said Mr. Brad- 
ley, “ run down cellar, and bring up some 
beer for these young ladies.” 

There was a smile on James’s face as he 
drove the plug into the barrel. Prudy 
saw it through the open door, and it went 
to her heart. The cream beer was excel- 
lent, but Prudy did not relish it. She and 
Dotty had been whispering together. 

“ Wq will take two thirds of the rags in 
money, if you please,” said Prudy, in such 
a low tone that Mr. Bradley had to bend 
his ear to hear. 

“Because,” added Dotty, who wished to 
have everything c’ ^arly explained, “ because 


WHEELBARROWING. 


137 


we want to have our tin-types taken, sir. 
We saw a saloon riding on wheels, and we 
thought we’d go there, and see if the man 
wasn’t ready to take pictures.” 

“ And our little cousin may use her third, 
and buy something out of the store, if you 
please,” said the blushing Prudy. 


138 


DOTTY DIMPLE S PLY A WAY. 


CHAPTER IX. 

TIN-TYPES. 

Mr. Bradley said he did not often allow 
any one behind his counter, as all the boys 
in the village could testify ; but these 
young ladies were welcome in any part of 
the store. 

“ That little one is the spryest child I 
ever saw,” said the man with the court-, 
plaster, as Flyaway hovered about the can- 
dy-jars, like a butterfly over a flower-bed. 
“ She isn’t a Yankee child — is she ?” 

“No, sir,” replied Dotty, quickly; “she 
is a wester ness” 

She had heard Horace use the word, 
and presumed it was correct. 


TIN-TYPES. 


139 


“ I do wish Dotty would be more afraid 
of strangers/’ thought Prudy. “I never 
will take her anywhere again — with a 
wheelbarrow.” v v y 

Flyaway fluttered around for a minute, 
and then alighted upon her favorite sweet- 
meats, “ pepnits .” She chose for her por- 
tion a large amount of these, an harmonica, 
and a sugar pig, which Dotty assured her 
was not “ colored.” “ Nothing but pink dots, 
and those you can pick off.” 

“ The rags came to seventy-five cents, and 
this young lady has now had her third ; 
here is the remainder,” said Mr. Bradley, 
smiling as he gave each of the little Par- 
lins some money, and bowed them out of 
the store. 

“I’ll put it in my porte-monnaie, sir; 
my sister Prudy didn’t br'ng hers.” 

“ What makes you talk so much, Dotty 


140 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


Dimple ?” said Prudy ; “ that man has been 
making sport of ns all the time.” 

“ Did he ?” said Dotty, solemnly. “ I’m 
’stouished at grandma Parlin letting us sell 
rags! Wish this wheelbarrow was in the 
Stiftic Ocean .” 

“ But it isn’t, little sister, and the worst 
of it is, we’ve got to take it to the pho* 
tograph saloon ; it’s so far home and back 
again.” 

“ Got to take the ole wlieelbarrel every 
single where we go,” pouted Flyaway, as 
drearily as either of her cousins. 

“You needn’t mind it, though,” said 
Dotty, giving the one-wheeled coach a hard 
^*push ; “a little girl that’s going visiting, 
and have succotash for dinner.” 

“ I didn’t know I was. 0, 1 am so glad ! 
What is it !” 

“ Corn and beans. Aunt Martha’s girl is 


TIN-TYPES. 


141 


the best cook, — makes cherry pudding. 
Dear, dear, dear! Wish I was in Port- 
land ; see ’f I wouldn’t go to Tate Penny’s, 
and have some salmon and ice-cream !” 

Down the beautiful shaded street walked 
the three little rag-pedlers; and it did 
seem as if they were met by all the people 
in town, from the minister down to the 
barefoot boys going fishing. At last they 
arrived at the house on wheels. 

“ STow I’ll tell you, Fly, what we’re go- 
ing to do,” said Prudy. “Dotty and I 
want to have our tin-types taken, to give 
to grandma, as a pleasant surprise. We’ll 
pay for yours too, if you’ll sit for it.” 

“ Tin-tybc ? Of course, indeed I will. ££ 
Won’t I have nuffin to do but just sit 
still? But I'd rather be gentle (generous), 
and give it to my mamma.” 

“Well, to your mamma, then. What 


142 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


will be the harm, Dotty, in leaving this 
wheelbarrow out here at the door?” 

“ I don’t know,” said Dotty ; “ I hope 
there won’t any 4 bugglers’ come along, 
and steal it.” 

“I shall watch it,” replied Prudy, with 
a care-worn look; and they all went up 
the steps and entered the little picture- 
gallery. 

The windows were closed, and the odor of 
chemicals was so stifling, that the children 
almost gasped for breath. The artist seemed 
glad to see them, made no remarks about 
the wheelbarrow, though he must have no- 
ticed it, and said he would be ready in 
a few minutes. While they waited, they 
walked about the room, looking at the 
pictures on the walls. 

“ See,” said Dotty ; “ there is Abby Grant, 
with her hair frizzed. Prudy ” (in a low 


TIN-TYPES. 


143 


whisper), “you don’t s’pose he will carry 
us off — do you ? I forget about the wheels, 
or I wouldn’t have come ! 0, see that 

little boy ; hands as big as my father’s ! 
Here comes Jennie Yance; I’m going to 
call her in.” 

Dotty had forgotten her contempt for 
her lively friend. Jennie came in, twirling 
the rim of her hat, and looking quite grat- 
ified by this mark of friendship in Dotty. 

“ Going to have your picture taken, Dot- 
ty Dimple ? Well, so I would if I was as 
pretty as you are. 0, dear” (with a sly 
peep at the glass), “ I wish I wasn’t so 
homely.” 

How Jennie was a handsome child, and 
knew it well ; but Dotty took her wail in 
earnest. “ Why, Jennie,” said she, with 
ready sympathy, “I don’t think you’re so 
very homely ; not half so homely, any 
way, as some of the girls at Portland.” 


144 


DOTTY DIMPLE S FLYAWAY. 


Jennie frowned and bit her thumb. Pru- 
dy smiled “ behind her mouth,” but Dotty 
was serenely unconscious that she had 
given offence. By this time the artist was 
ready, and thought it best to try Flyaway 
first ; for he had had enough experience 
with children to see at a glance that this 
one would be as difficult to “ take ” as a 
bird on the wing. Prudy made sure the 
wheelbarrow was safe, and then turned to 
arrange her little cousin. 

“Here, put your hands down in your 
lap.” 

Up went the little hands to the flossy 
hair. “ It won’t stay, Prudy, or nelse you 
tie it.” 

“ I shall brush it, the very last minute, 
Flyaway. All you must do is sit still. 
Mayn’t she look at your watch, sir, just 
to keep her eyes from moving ? ” 


TIN-TYPES. 


145 


“ No matter what she looks at/’ replied 
the artist ; “ but she must keep that little 
head of hers straight.” 

His tone was firm ; he hoped to awe 
her into quietness. Flyaway was fright- 
ened, and clung to Prudy for protection. 

“ Don’t the gemplum love little gee-urls ?” 
said she, in a voice as low and sad as a 
dying dove’s. 

Mr. Poindexter laughed, and stroked the 
beautiful floss lovingly. 

“Just turn your sweet litte face this 
way, dear child ; that’s all.” 

“ 0, my shole 1 Must I turn my face to 
my back!” said Flyaway, bewildered. 

“ Ho, no ; look at this picture on the 
wall. See what it is, so you can tell your 
mother.” 

“It’s a bridge, and a man, and a fish,” 

gaid Flyaway, flashing a glance at it. 

1G 


146 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


“ There, smooth your forehead ; now yon 
will do.” And so she did, for two seconds, 
till she began to squint, to see whether it 
was a fish or a dog; und that picture was 
spoiled. 

Next time she tried so very hard to sit 
still that she swayed to and fro like a 
slender-stemmed flower when the wind goes 
over it. The picture was blurred 

“ 0, Fly, you must keep your shoulders 
still,” said Prudy, looking as anxious as 
the old woman in the shoe. 

“I didn’t never want to come here,” 
said the child ; “ when I sit so still, Prudy, 
it ’most gives me a pain.” 

“But you haven’t sat still yet, not a 
minute.” 

“I could, you know, Prudy, or nelse I 
didn’t have to breeve,” groaned Flyaway, 
lifting her eyebrows. 


TIN-TYPES. 


147 


“ Another one spoiled/’ said the artist 
trying to smile. 

“ Yes,” said Dotty, who felt none of the 
care. 44 Once it was her head, and then it 
was her shoulders ; and now her eyebrows 
are all of a quirk.” 

Poor little Flyaway felt as much out of 
place as a grape-vine would feel, if it had 
to make believe it was a pine tree. 

44 Wisht I’d said 4 no,’ ’stead o’ 4 yes,”’ 
murmured she, puckering her mouth to the 
size of a very small button-hole. 

44 This will never do,” said the patient 
artist, almost in despair. 44 Hold your lit- 
tle chin up, there’s a lady. Don’t put it 
in your neck. Yow ! Ready I” 

But at the critical moment there was a 
jerk, and Flyaway cried out, — 

44 I’ve got a sneeze ; but, 0, dear, I can’t 
sneeze it.” 


148 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


“Why, where’s that head of yours lit* 
tie Tot ? I declare, I believe it goes on 
wires, like a jumping-jack.” 

“ My head’s wrong side up,” said Flya- 
way, mournfully ; “ my mother said it was.” 

Mr. Poindexter laughed: it "was impos- 
sible to be vexed with such a gentle child 
as Flyaway. “ Really, my young friends,” 
said he, rubbing his stained fingers through 
his hair, “ I believe I shall be obliged to 
give it up for the present. Have the 
child’s mother come with her to-morrow, 
and we’ll do better, I am sure.” 

With the likenesses of the other girls he 
succeeded very well ; and Prudy and Dotty 
were glad to find, that after paying for 
theirs, they each had ten cents left. 

“ How, Fly, we will go to aunt Martha’s.” 

But Fly was amusing herself by scraping 
dirt out of the cracks of her boots with a 
hit of glass. 


TIN-TYPES. 


149 


“ Dotty won’t be to aunt Marfie’s. I 
don’t want to stay where Dotty isn’t.” 

“ But your mamma will be there, you 
know ; and I told you what they are going 
to have for dinner.” 

“ Yes, secretary ,” said Flyaway, proud 
of her memory. “ She is a very nice cook- 
er, but you’ll have hard work to get me 
to go.” 

She drawled out the words languidly, and 
seemed on the point of going to sleep. 

“ 0, girls, girls, girls,” cried Prudy, 
opening the door and looking out, “our 
wheelbarrow is gone — it’s gone.” 

“ It’s bugglers ; I told you so,” said Dotty. 

Mr. Poindexter was quite amused by his 
little sitters. “ I saw that you come in a 
coach,” said he, “ and without any horses.” 

“ Our grandmother said we might,” spoke 
up Dotty, anxious to divert all blame from 


150 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


herself. “ She said we might ; but Prudy 
ought to have gone straight home. I knew 
it all the time.” 

“ I dare say some one has driven off 
your carriage in sport,” said the kind- 
hearted photographer ; “ never fear.” 

“ 0, no, sir ; it was new and red. Folks 
wanted it to haul stones in, and that was 
why they took it,” said Dotty, wrathfully. 

The children looked up street and down 
street. No wheelbarrow in sight. “ We 
must go to aunt Martha’s, and then come 
back and hunt for it, if we have to go 
without our dinners,” they said. They 
took Flyaway between them, and marched 
her off. She was almost as passive as a 
rag baby, ready to drop down anywhere, 
and fall asleep. “ ’Cause I am so tired,” 
Baid she. 

Aunt Martha cordially invited the two 


TIN-TYPES. 


151 


cousins to dine. They thanked her, but 
no, they must find the wheelbarrow. “We 
shan’t say, certain positive, that bugglers 
took it, but we s’pose so,” said Dotty, 
softening her judgment, as she remembered 
her mistake about the “ screw-up pencil.” 
They went home through the broiling sun, 
but found no trace of the wheelbarrow. 

“ It’s a dreadful thing,” said Prudy, la- 
zily, “ but I don’t feal as bad as I should 
if I was fairly awake.” 

“ Me, too,” yawned Dotty ; “ I wish we 
could lie down under the trees, and go 
to sleep.” 

They had been a long while in the close 
saloon, inhaling ether, and this was the 
cause of their languor. As they entered 
the yard they met Horace. 

“ 0, dear,” said Dotty, trying to look 
as sorry as she knew she ought to feel, 


“ that wheel — ” 


152 DOTTY DIMPLE’S ELYAWAY. 

“ What l” exclaimed Prudy. 

There, under a syringa tree in the gar. 
den, stood the wheelbarrow. The girls 
rubbed their eyes, and wondered if they 
were walking in their sleep. 

“ That thing trundled itself in here about 
half an hour ago,” said Horace, gravely. 
“ You may know I was surprised to look 
up, and see it coming without hands, just 
rolling along like a velocipede.” 

Dotty eyed the runaway wheelbarrow stu- 
pidly. “ I don’t believe it,” said she, flatly. 

Horace laughed ; and then the fog cleared 
away from Dotty’s miud in a minute. 

“ Why, girls,” said he, “ how long did 
you think I could wait to haul off my 
weeds ? You were gone two hours. I 
watched you on your parade, and followed 
at a respectful distance.” 


“ There, Horace Clifford I” 


TIN-TYPES* 


153 


“ In order not to disturb the procession. 
Then, when I saw you going into the 
saloon, I went up and claimed my wheel- 
barrow. Didn’t want it any longer — did 
you?” 

“ No, and never want it again,” said 
Prudy. 

“Dy the way, here’s a conundrum for 
you, girls, Why’s a wheelbarrow 'like a 
potato ?” 

“ I shouldn’t think it was like it at all,” 
answered Dotty. “ Where did you read 
that ?” 

“ Didn’t read it anywhere. I’ve given 
up books since I undertook gardening. 
Never was much of a bookworm. Make 
a very respectable earth-worm ; ask aunt 
Louise if I don’t.” 

The little girls entered the house, too 
tired and sleepy to make any reply. 


154 


DOTTY DIMPLES PLY AW AY. 


CHAPTER X. 

WAKING. 

Flyaway was very much sleepier than 
either of her cousins, and really did not 
know where she was, or what she was 
doing. Lonnie Adams, a hoy of Horace’s 
age, tried to interest her. lie made believe 
the old cat was a sheep, killed her with an 
iron spoon, and hung her up by the hind 
legs for mutton, all of which Pussy bore like 
a lamb, for she had been killed a great 
many times, and was used to it. But it 
did not please Flyaway ; neither did aunt 
Martha’s collection of shells and pictures 
call forth a single smile. There was a 


WAKING. 


155 


beautiful clock in the parlor, and the pen- 
dulum was in the form of a little hoy 
swinging ; but Flyaway would not have 
cared if it had been a gallows, and the 
boy hanging there dead. 

Uncle John took her on his knee, asked 
her what her name was, where she lived, 
and whom she loved best ; but she only 
answered she “ didn’t know.” She might 
have been Daniel in the lions’ den, or Jo- 
seph in the pit, for all the difference to her. 

“ IIow very singular !” said aunt Martha, 
“I wish her mother would come. Do feel 
her pulse, John, and see if it is fever.” 

“Nothing of the kind,” said uncle John, 
as the little one’s head dropped on his 
shoulder. “ Overcome by the heat ; that’s 
all. I’ll just lay ner down on the sofa.” 

When Mi's. Clifford came, she was sur- 
prised to find the child fast asleep. Sho 


156 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


would not have her wakened for dinner ; 
so Flyaway missed her “ secretary.” But 
when it was three o’clock, and she still 
slept, Mrs. Clifford feared something was 
wrong, and decided to take her home. 
Uncle John had “Lightning Dodger” har- 
nessed, and brought round to the door. 

“Wake up, little daughter,” said Mrs. 
Clifford ; “ we are going home now.” 

Flyaway looked around vacantly, her eye? 
as heavy as drenched violets. 

“ You must come again, and stay longer,' 
said aunt Martha; “it is hardly polite noi 
to let little girls have their dinners — do 
you think it is?” 

“ Yes ’em,” replied Flyaway, faintly. She 
did not understand a word any one said; 
it all sounded as indistinct as the roaring 
of a sea-shell. By the time she was lifted 
into her mother’s arms in the carriage, she 


WAKING. 


157 


was nodding again. When they reached 
home she scarcely spoke, but, dropping 
upon the sofa, went on with her dreams. 
It was odd for Flyaway to take a nap in 
the daytime, and such a long one as this l 
u It must be a very warm day,” said 
Mrs. Parlin, “for Purdy and Dotty have 
been asleep too.” 

“ Where did they go after they sold the 
rags ? ” asked Mrs. Clifford ; “ they all 
look pale.” 

“ To a photograph saloon. Here are the 
tin-types they brought home to me,” re- 
plied grandma, producing them from liei 
pocket, with a gratified smile 

“ V-ery good, mother — don’t you think 
so? I would be glad to have as truthful 
a likeness of our little Katie; hut she must 
be taken asleep. I wonder, by the way, 
if there wasn’t something in the air of the 


158 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


saloon which made the children all so lan- 
guid ! ” 

“ Why, yes, Maria; very likely it was 
the ether. Now you speak of it, I am con- 
fident it must have been the ether.” 

W I knew just such an instance before,” 
said Mrs. Clifford ; “ and that is why I 
happened to think of it now.” 

About four o’clock Flyaway came to her 
senses. 

“ Where’s the wheelbarrel ? ” said she, 
rubbing her eyes 

“ 0, Horace came and took it,” said 
Dotty. u Hasn’t this been the queerest 
day?” • 

“ You said you’s goin’ to take me to 
aunt Marfie’s; why didn’t you?” 

“0, we did; we took you, you know,” 

“Dotty Dimpul, I shouldn’t think you’d 
make any believe.” 


WAKING. 


159 


44 I’m not 4 making any believe* — am I, 
Prudy ?” 

44 Ho, Fly, she isn’t. We pulled you 
along, — don’t you remember? — and yon 
hung back, and said, ’I am so tired.’ ” 

4 I don’t ’member,” said Flyaway, slowly 
and sadly. 44 I shouldn’t think you’d make 
any believe, Prudy.” 

“ We’ll ask your mamma, then; she tells 
the trath. Aunt ’Riah, didn’t we take 
• Fly a vay to aunt Martha’s this morning, 
and didn’t you go there too ?” 

44 Certainly,” said Mrs. Clifford ; 44 but it 
wasn’t much of a visit, — was it, darling! 
— when you slept most of the time, and 
didn’t have a mouthful of dinner?” 

Flyaway sighed heavily, and looked at 
her mother. 44 0, mamma ! mamma I ” 

44 What is it, dear?” 

44 0, mamma,” repeated she, sorrowfully, 
44 why did you say those words ?” 


160 


DOTTY DIMPLE ? S FLYAWAY. 


“ What words, darling ?” 

“ Those naughty, naughty words, mam. 
ma.” Flyaway’s gentle eyes were afloat. 
She crossed the room, and knelt by Mrs. 
Clifford's chair, looking up at her with an 
expression of anguish. 

“ That man, he wasn't in the lions’ den, 
that prayed so long and so loud, mamma.” 

“Well, dear.” 

“ Up tolled a wrong story to me, mamma.” 

“ My darling baby,” said Mrs. Clitto rd, 
catching Flyaway in her arms, “do you 
think your own dear mother is telling you 
a wrong story this minute?” 

“ 'Cause, ’cause, mamma, I didn’t go to 
aunt Marfie’s ! ” 

“ Yes, you did, my precious daughter ; 
but you w T ere asleep and dreaming. We 
brought you home in the carriage, and 
you didn’t know it. Can’t you believe it 
because I say so ?” 


WAKING. 


161 


Flyaway made no reply except to curl 
ner head under Mrs. Clifford’s arm, like a 
frightened chicken under its mother’s wing. 

' Mrs. Clifford looked troubled. She was 
afraid the little one could not be made to 
understand it. Horace came to her aid. 

“Hold up your head, little Topknot, 
and hear brother talk. Once there were 
three little girls, and they all travelled 
around with a wheelbarrow. By and by 
they came to a man’s house on wheels.’ 5 

“ Yes,” said Flyaway, starting up ; “I 
’member.” 

“ And the wee girl, with dove’s eyes — ” 

“ 0, 0, that’s me !” 

“She couldn’t keep still, and couldn’t 
get any picture.” 

“ No, tin-tybe ; ’cause — ’cause — ” 

“ And all the while there was something 

in the man’s house they kept breathing 

11 


162 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


into their noses, and it made them grow 
sleepy.” 

“ Just so?” asked Flyaway, sniffing. 

“ Yes ; and by and by the little one with 
dove’s eyes was as stupid as that woman 
you saw lying down in the street with the 
pig looking at her.” 

“Me? Was I a drunken?” said Flya- 
way, in a subdued tone. 

“ 0, no,” put in Dotty ; “ it wasn’t whis- 
key, it was either ; and I didn’t know much 
more than you did, Fly Clifford. That 
was why I lost your money, Prudy ; I 
just about know it was.” 

Flyaway began to understand. The look 
of fear and distrust went out of her eyes, 
and she threw her arms round her mother’s 
neck, kissing her again and again. 

“ ’Haps I did go to aunt Marfie’s, mamma ; 
’ haps I was asleep ! ” 


WAKING. 


IbZ 


“ That's right, Miss Topknot, ' cried Hor- 
ace ; “ now your brother’ll carry you pick- 
aback.” 

A little while afterward Mrs. Clifford 
began a letter to her husband. 

“ I am going to tell papa about his little 
girl — that she is very well.” 

“ 0, no, you needn’t, mamma,” said 
Flyaway, laughing ; “ papa knows it. I 
was well at home.” 

“ What shall I tell him, then ?” 

Flyaway thought a moment. 

“ Tell him all the folks doesn’t tell lies,” 
said she earnestly ; “ only but the naughty 
folks tells lies.” 

So that was settled ; and Flyaway de- 
cided to write off the whole story, and send 
to her father — a mixture of little sharp 
zigzags, curves, and dots. When Horace 
asked her what these meant, she said “ she 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


I n 4 

couVn’t ’member now ; but papa would 
know.” 

There was another matter which troubled 
grandma Parlin somewhat. Dotty had gone 
to the store, after dinner, with two ten- 
cent pieces in her port-monnaie. She 
had bought for herself some jujube paste, 
but in returning had lost the other dime. 

“ Grandma, do you think that is fair?” 
said Prudy. “ She has lost my money, but 
she doesn’t care at all ; only laughs. I was 
going to put it with some more I had, and 
buy mother a collar.” 

“ ISTo, it is not right,” replied grandma. 
“ I will talk with her, and try to make 
her willing to give you some of hers in 
return.” 

Ah, grandma Parlin, you little knew 
what you were undertaking when you 
called Dotty Dimple into the back parlor 


WAKING. 


165 


next morning, and began to talk about 
that money 1 Children’s minds are strange 
things. They are like bottles with very 
small necks; and when you pour in an 
idea, you must pour very slowly, a drop 
at a time, or it all runs over. Dotty did 
not know much more about money than 
Flyaway. 

“My child,” said her grandmother, “it 
seems you have lost something which be- 
longed to Prudy.” 

Dotty looked up carelessly from the pic- 
ture of a rose she held in her hand, which 
she meant to adorn with yellow paint. 

“ 0, yes ’m ; you mean that money.” 

“ There are several things you don’t 
know, Dotty ; and one is, that you have no 
right to lose other people’s things.” 

“No ’m.” 

“The money you dropped out of your 


166 


DOTTV DIMPLE’S FLVAWAI. 


porte-monnaie, yesterday, was Prudy’s, not 
yours ; and wliat are you going to do about 
it?” 

“Let me see; my mother’] 1 come to- 
morrow; I’ll ask her to give me some 
more.” 

“But is that right? Dotty lost the 
money ; must not Dotty be the one to give 
it back?” 

“ 0, grandma, I can’t find it ! The wind 
blew it away, or a horse stepped on it. I 
can’t find it, certainly.” 

“Ho; but you have money of your own. 
You can give some of that to Trudy.” 

“ Why-ee !” moaned Dotty. “ Prudy’s 
got ever so much. 0, grandma, she has ; 
and my box is so empty it can’t but just 
jingle.” 

“But, my dear, that has nothing to do 
with the case. If Prudy has a great deal 



I 

l 


Fltawat aw® Diwah. Page 171 





































^ 0 - 


w 


























WAKING. 


167 


of money, you have no right to lose any 
of it. Don’t you think you ought to give 
it back ?” 

“ 0, no, grandma — I don’t ; because she 
doesn’t need it I I wish she’d give me- ten 
cents, for I do need it ; I haven’t but a 
tinty, tonty mite.” 

Here Dotty threw herself on the sofa, 
the picture of despair. Grandma was per- 
plexed. Had she been pouring ideas into 
Dotty’s mind too fast? What should she 
say next? 

“ My dear little girl, suppose Prudy 
should lose some of your money — what 
then ?” 

“ I shouldn’t like it at all, grandma. Don’t 
let her go to my box — will you ?” 

“ Selfish little girl !” said grandma, look- 
ing keenly at Dotty’s troubled face. “ You 


168 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


would expect Prudy to return every cent, 
if she were in your place.” 

“ Because — because — grandma — ” 

“ Yes ; and when I explain your duty to 
you, you don’t understand me. You would 
understand if you were not so selfish !” 

Dotty winced. 

“ Don’t come to me again, and complain 
of Jennie Vance.” 

Dotty could not meet her grandmother’s 
searching gaze : it seemed to cut into her 
heart like a sharp blade. 

“Am I as had as Jennie Vance? Yes, 
just as bad ; and grandma knows it. But 
then,” said she aloud, though very faintly, 
“ Prudy needn’t have put it in my porte- 
monnaie; she might have known I’d lose 
it.” - 

“ Dotty, I am not going to say any more 
about it now. You may think it over to- 


WAjiiKt*. 


169 


day, and decide for yourself whether you 
are following the Golden Rule. Or, if you 
choose, you may wait and talk with your 
mother.” 

“ Yes’m.” Dotty was giad to escape 
into the kitchen. 


170 


DOTTY DIMPLE 5 ? FLYAWAY. 


CHAPTER XI. 
aunt polly’s story. 

Flyaway sat on the kitchen floor, feed- 
ing Dinah with a roasted apple. As often 
as Dinah refused a teaspoonful, she put 
it into her own mouth, saying, with a wise 
nod, u My child, she’s sick ; hasn’t any 
appletite.” 

Out of doors it was raining heartily. It 
seemed as if the “ upper deep” was tipping 
over, and pouring itself into the lap of the 
earth. 

a< 0, Ruthie,” sighed Dotty Dimple, “ my 
mother won’t come while it’s such weather. 
Do you s’pose ’twill ever clear off ?” 


aunt polly’s story. 


171 


“ Yes, I do,” replied Ruth, trimming a 
* pie briskly ; “ it only began last night at 
five.’ 

“ Why, Ruthie Dillon ! it began three 
weeks ago, by the clock ! Don’t you know 
that day I couldn’t go visiting ? Only 
sometimes it stops a while, and then begins 
again.” 

“ If you’re going to have the blues, Miss 
Dotty, I’ll thank you kindly just to take 
yourself out of this kitchen. Polly Whit- 
ing is here, and she is as much as a body 
can endure in this dull weather.” 

“ It’s pitiful ’bout the rain, Dotty ; but 
you mustn’t scold when God sended it,” 
said Flyaway, dropping the feeble Dinah, 
and pursuing her cousin round the room 
with a pin. In a minute they were bf)th 
laughing gayly, till Flyaway caught her- 
self on her little rocking-chair, and “ got 


172 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


a torn in her apron.” That ended the 
sport. 

“ What shall I do to make myself hap- 
py ?” said Dotty, musingly ; for she wished 
to put off all thought of Prudy’s money. 
“ I should like to roll out some thimble- 
cookies, but Ruthie hasn’t much patience 
this morning. I never dare do things when 
her lips are squeezed together so.” 

But Flyaway dared do things. She took 
up the kitty, and played to her on the 
“ music,” till Ruth’s ears were “ on edge.” 
After this the harmonica fell into a dish 
of soft soap, and in cleaning it with ashes 
and a sponge, the holes became stopped. 

“ It won’t no more,” said Flyawa}", 
in sad surprise, blowing into the keys in 
vain. Ruth loved the little child too well 
to say she was glad of it. 

Flyaway’s next dash was into the sink 


aunt polly’s story. 


173 


cupboard, where she found a wooden bowl 
of sand. This she dragged out, and filling 
her “ nipperkin ” with water, carried them 
both to Ruth, saying, in her sweet, plead- 
ing way, — - 

“ If you please, Ruthie, will you tell 
how God does when he takes the ‘little 
drops of water and little grains of sand,’ 
and makes ‘ the mighty oshum’ with um, 
‘ and the pleasant land’?” 

Ruthie had no answer but a kiss and a 
smile. 

“ There, away with you into the nursery, 
both of you. I know Polly Whiting is 
lonesome without you.” 

Off went the children, Flyaway “with 
a hear, for any fate,” but Dotty still op- 
pressed with the shadow of the ten-cent 
piece. 

“ If I don’t give it to Prudy, will I be 


174 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


dishonest? 'Will I be as bad as Jennie 
Vance?” 

When they entered the nursery, Miss 
Polly was standing before the mirror, ar- 
ranging her black cap, and weaving into 
her collar a square black breast-pin, which 
aunt Louise said looked like a gravestone. 
Flyaway peeped in too, placing her smooth 
pink cheek beside Miss Polly’s wrinkled 
one. 

“I don’t look alike, Miss Polly,” said 
she; a and you don’t look alike too.” 

Certainly not ; no more alike than a 
blush-rose bud and a dried apple. 

“ What makes the red go out of folks’ 
cheeks when they grow old, and the wrin- 
kles crease in, like the pork in baked 
beans?” queried Dotty. 

“I couldn’t tell you,” replied the good 
lady, giving a pat to her cap, and settling 


aunt polly’s story. 


Ill 


the bows carefully ; “ but if you liad askec 
flow I happened to grow old before my 
time, I should say I’d had such a hard 
chance through life, and trouble always 
leaves its mark.” 

“Does it? 0, dear! I have trouble,— 
ever so much ; will it t^uirk my face all 
up, like yours ?” 

“ You have trouble, Dotty Parlin ? Haven’t 
you found out yet that the lines have fallen 
to you in pleasant places ?” 

“ I don’t know what you mean by lines,” 
said Dotty, thinking of fish-hooks ; “ but 
when it rains, and folks want me to do 
things that are real hard, then why, I’m 
blue, now truly.” 

“Then we’re blue, now truly,” added 
Flyaway by way of finish. 

“What would you do, children, if you 
were driven about, as I used to be, from 


176 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


post to pillar, with no mother to care for 
you V 

“ If I hadn’t no mamma, I could go bare- 
foot, like a dog,” said Flyaway, brightening 
with the new idea ; “ I could paddle in 
the water too, and eat pepnits.” 

“ 0, child ! But what if you had neither 
father nor mother?” 

“ Then,” said Flyaway coolly, “ I should 
go to some house where there was a fa- 
ther’ll mother.” 

“ Why, you little heartless thing ! But 
that is always the way with children ; their 
parents set their lives by them, but not a 
‘thank you’ do they get for their lovel 
Try a pinch,” continued she, offering her 
snuff-box to the little folks, who both de- 
clined. This Polly thought was strange. 
They must like snuff if they followed the 
natural bent of their nose. 


aunt polly’s story. 


177 


“ Yes, Katie, as 1 was saying, you little 
know how your mother loves you. 

“ Yes um, I do. She loves me more ’n 
the river, and the sky, and the bridge. 
My papa loves me too, only but he don’t 
say nullin’ ’bout it.” 

“ Yes, yes ; just so,” said Miss Polly, 
who talked to the simplest infants just as 
she did to grown people. “ One of these 
days you will look back, and see hdw 
happy you are now, and be sorry you 
didn’t prize your parents while you had 
them.” 

Flyaway rested her rosy cheek on Polly’s 
knee, and watched the gray knitting-work 
as it came out of the basket. She did not 
understand the sad woman’s words, but 
was attracted by her loving nature, and 
liked to sit near her, a minute at a time, 

and have her hair stroked. 

12 


178 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


44 There, now,” said Dotty, 44 you are 
knitting, Miss Polly ; and it’s so lonesome 
all round the house, with mother not corn- 
ing till to-morrow, that I should think you 
might tell — well, tell an anecdote.” 

44 1 don’t know where to begin, or what to 
say,” replied Polly, falling into deep thought. 

44 I just believe she does sigh at the end 
of every needle,” mused Dotty ; 44 I’m going 
to keep ’count. That’s once.” 

44 Please, Miss Polly, tell a nanny-goat” 
said Flyaway, dancing around the room. 
44 Please, Miss Polly, and I’ll kiss you a 
pretty little kiss.” 

44 Twice,” whispered Dotty. 

44 Well, I’ll tell you something that will 
pass for an anecdote, on condition that 
you call me aunt Polly ; that name warms 
my heart a good deal better than Miss 


aunt Polly’s story. 


170 


“Three I” said Dotty aloud. “We will, 
honestly, if we can think of it, aunt Polly. 
— Four.” 

“ Le’me gwout for the sidders, first,’ 1 
said busy Flyaway. 

“ There, aunt Polly, you forgot it that 
time ! You sprang up quick to shut the 
door, and forgot it.” 

“Forgot what?” 

“You didn’t sigh at the end of your 
needle.” 

“Why, Dotty, how you do talk! Any 
one would suppose, by that, I was in the 
habit of sighing ! I have a stitch in my 
side, child, and it makes me draw a long 
breath now and then; that’s all.” 

Flyaway was back again, 


“With step-step light, and tip-tap slight 
Against the door.” 


180 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


“Come in,” said Dotty, “and see if yod 
can keep still two whole minutes; but I 
know you can’t.” 

Miss Polly let her work fall in her lap, 
and drew up the left sleeve of her black 
alpaca dress. “ Do you see that scar, 
children ? ” 

It was just below the elbow, — an irreg- 
ular, purple mark, about the size of a new 
cent. 

“ Why, Miss — why, aunt Polly ! ” 

“I’ve gat one on me too,” said Flya- 
way, pulling at her apron sleeve ; “ Hollis 
did it with the tongs.” 

“It can’t be; not a scar like mine.” 

“ Bigger ’n’ larger ’n’ yours; only but I 
can’t find it,” said Flyaway, carefully twist- 
ing around her dainty white arm, which 
Polly kissed, and said was as sweet as a 
peach. “ Bigger ’n’ larger ’n’ yours. Where a 


AUNT POLLY'S STOEY. 


181 


it gone to ? 0 , I feegot — ’twas on my 
sleeve , and I never put it on to-day.” 

“ You’re a droll child, not to know the 
difference between scars and dirt l When 
I was almost as young and quite as in- 
nocent, that wicked little boy bit me, and 
I shall carry the marks of his teeth to my 
grave.” With another lingering glance at 
the purple mark, Polly drew down her 
sleeve, sighed, and began to knit again. 

“ Was it the woman’s child that made 
you dig, that you told about last summer ?” 

“ Yes ; I was a bound girl.” 

“ Bound to what ?” Dotty was trying 
to drown the remembrance of Prudy’s ten 
cents ; so she wished to keep Miss Polly 
talking. 

“ Bound to Mrs. Potter till I was eighteen 
years old. Iler husband kept a public house. 
They made a perfect slave of me. When 


POTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


182 

I was twelve years old I had to milk three 
cows, besides spinning my day’s work on 
the flax-wheel. And very often all I had 
for supper was brown bread and skim milk. 
I didn’t have any grandfather’s house to 
go to, with a seat in the trees, and a boat 
on the water, and a swing, and a sum- 
mer house, and a crock y - set (croquet set). 
Not I!” 

Flyaway was cutting paper dolls with all 
speed, but her sweet little face was drawn 
into curves of pity. 

“ Too bad ! Naughty folks to give you 
skilmick .” 

“ I had to scour all the knives too. I 
did it by drawing them back and forth into 
a sand-bank back of the house. This Isaac 
I speak of was a lazy boy, and very unkind 
to me; but his mother wouldn’t hear a 
word against him. One day I brushed a 


aunt polly’s story. 


183 


traveller’s coat, and got a silver quarter fot 
my trouble. I thought everything of that 
quarter. I had never had so much money 
before in my life. I had half a mind to 
put it in the Savings Bank; ‘and who 
knows,’ thought I, ‘ but I can add more to 
it, one of these days, and buy my time.’ ” 

“ Why, Miss Polly, I didn’t know you 
could buj time I” 

“ But you knew you could throw it awaj , 
I suppose,” said Polly, with a sad smile. 
“What I mean is this: I wanted to pay 
Mrs. Potter some money, so I could go 
free before I was eighteen.” 

“ Then you would be unbound , aunt 
Polly.” 

“ Yes ; but one day Isaac found my 
money, — I kept it in an old tobacco-box, 
— and, just to hector me, he kept tossing 
it up in the air, till all of a sudden it fell 


184 


COTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY, 



“HERE HE IS! 




aunt polly’s story. 


185 


through a crack in the floor ; and that was 
the last I saw of it.” 

“ What a naughty, careless hoy ! ,7 

After Dotty had said this, she blushed. 

“Naughty, careless hoy!” echoed Flya- 
way. “ Here he is I ” holding up a paper 
doll shaped very much like a whale, with 
the fin divided for legs, the ears of a cat, 
and the arms of a wind mill. “ Here he is !” 

“ He didn’t look much like that,” said 
Polly, -laughing. “ He had plenty of money 
of his own, and I tried to make him give 
me back a quarter ; but do you believe he 
wouldn’t, not even a ninepence? And 
when I teased him, that was the time he 
bit my arm.” 

“ He oughtn’t to bitted your arm, course, 
indeed not ! ” 

“ But, aunt Polly,” faltered Dotty, whose 
efforts to forget the ten-cent piece had 


186 


DOTTY LIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


proved worse than useless, “ hut it didn't 
no Isaac any good to lose your money 
down a crack.” 

“ No, it was sheer mischief.” 

“ And if it doesn’t do folks any good to 
lose things, you know, why, what’s the 
use — to — to — go and get his own money 
to pay it back with ? — Isaac I mean.” 

“ What do you say, Dotty Parlin? You, 
a child that goes to Sabbath school ! Don’t 
you know it is a sin to steal a pin? And 
if we lose or injure other people’s things, 
and don’t make it up to them, we’re as 
good as thieves.” 

“ As good ?” 

“ As bad, then.” 

“ But s’posin’ — a posin’ folks lose things 
when they dorit toss ’em up :n the air, 
and don’t mean to, — -the wind, you knew, 
or a kind of an accident. Kl. Poity T — 


aunt polly’s story 


187 


“ Well ?” 

“And s’posin’ I didn’t have any more 
money, ’n I wanted myself, and Prudy had 
the most — IPm — ” 

“Well ?” 

“ Then it isn’t as bad as thieves ; now i» 
it? She’s got the most. Prudy’s older’n 
I am—” 

“Honesty is honesty.' said Miss Polly, 
firmly, “ in young or old. If you ve lost 
your sister’s money, you must make it up 
to her.” 

u O, must I, Miss Polly? Such a tinty- 
vonty mite of money as I’ve got, — only 
sixty-five cents.’ 

“ Honesty is honesty,” repeated Miss 
Polly, “ in rich or poor.” 

“Dear me: will my mother say so, too?” 

“ Your mother is on the right side, Dot- 
ty, The Bible tells us to ‘deal justly.’ 


188 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


There’s nothing said there about excusing 
poor folks.” 

“ 0, dear 1 do you s’pose the Bible ex- 
pects me to pay Prudy Parlin ten cents, 
when it just blew out of my hands, and 
did'nt do me a speck of good? 

*' Why, Dotty, you surprise me ! Any 
one would think you were brought up a 
heathen ! If you were a small child I 
could understand it.” 

“ I knew I should have to co it,” moaned 
Dotty. 

“I advise you to lose no time about it, 
then; that is the cause of your blues, I 
guess. We can’t be happy out of the line 
of our duty,” sighed Miss Polly, who re- 
garded herself as a pattern of cheerfulness. 

“I’ll tell you what I’m going to do,’’ 
said Dotty, resolutely; “I’m going right 
off to pay that money to Prudy, and then 
I’ll be in the line of my duty.” 


JFULL N1PPERKIN. 


189 


CHAPTER XII. 

FULL NIPPERKIN. 

Prudy scorned to take the ten cents. 
u Did you think your 6 middle-aged’ sister 
would do such a thing, when she has more 
money than ^ou have, Dotty Dimple ? If 
you’re only sorry, that’s all I ask. I didn’t 
like to have you laugh, as if you didn’t 
care.” 

“ But, Prudy, I want to be honest.” 

u And so you have been, dear child,” 
said grandma Parlin, with an approving 
smile. “ If Prudy chooses now to give you 
the money, receive it as a present, and 
say, 6 Thank you.’ ” 


190 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


44 0, thank you, Prudy Parlin, over and 
over, and up to the moon,” cried Dotty, 
throwing her arms around her kind sister’* 
neck. “ I’ll never lose anything of yours 
again ; no, never, never 1” 

This lesson was laid away on a shelf in 

% 

Dotty’s memory. Close beside it was an- 
other lesson, still more wholesome. 

‘ 4 Dotty Dimple isn’t the best girl that 
ever lived. She had to be talked to and 
talked to, before she was willing to do 
right. She isn’t any better than Jennie 
Vance, after all. Why did she pray that 
naughty prayer, just to make Jennie feel 
bad ? God must have thought it was very 
strange V* 

Grandma saw that Dotty's “blues” were 
dissolving like a morning mist ; still she 
knew the ch id was in need of patchwork, 
and told her so. 


FULL NIPPERKIN. 


191 


“Let us all take our work/’ said she, 
“and sit together in the nursery, so we 
may forget the dull weather.” 

Grace brought her piqu<$ apron down 
stairs to make, Susy her tatting, Trudy a 
handkerchief, Dotty a square of patchwork, 
while Flyaway danced about for a needle 
and thread. 

“ What a happy group ? ” said Mrs. Clif- 
ford, looking up from her sewing. She 
had forgotten Polly Whiting, who was 
mournfully toeing off a sock for Horace, 
while he sat on the floor, at her feet, mend- 
ing her double-covered basket. 

“ Why, Katie, darling,” said Grace, “ what 
are you doing with that beautiful ribbon?” 

“Aunt Louise said I might make a bag, 
Grade — ” 

“Seems to me aunt Louise lets you do 
everything; I shouldn’t want you to spoil 
that ribbon.” 


192 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


“ They shan’t bother my little Topknot,” 
said Horace, with a sweep of his thumb. 
“She is going to have all my clothes to 
make bags of, when she grows up.” 

Flyaway, who knew she had a good right 
to the ribbon, pressed her eyelids together 
slowly. 

“If I’s Gracie,” said she, severely, “I’d 
make aprons ; if I’s mamma I’d sew dresses ; 
if I’s Flywer, I’d do just’s I want to.” 

And then she went on sewing, without 
any thimble. 

“ Girls, have you guessed yet why a 
wheelbarrow is like a potato?” 

“Ho, Horace: why is it?” 

“ 0, I was in hopes you could tell. / 
don’t know, 1 am sure. It is as much as 
I can do to make up a conundrum, with 
out finding out the answer. ' 

The children laughed at this, l none 


FULL MPPERKIN. 


19a 


of them so loud as Flyaway, who thought 
her brother the wisest, wittiest, and noblest 
specimen of boyhood that ever lived. 

“ How our needles do fly l” said Dotty, 
merrily. 

She was a neat and swift little seam- 
stress, even superior to Prudy. 

“ See,” said Flyaway to Horace ; “ I work 
faster ’n my mamma, ’cause she’s got a big 
dress to work on : of course she can’t sew 
so quick as I can on a little hag.” 

a Prudy can sew better and faster than 
I can,” said Dotty, with a sudden gush of 
humility. 

“ Why, Dotty Dimple, I don’t think so,” 
returned Prudy, quite surprised. 

“ Neither do I,” said aunt Maria ; “ I 
am afraid our little Dotty is hardly sin- 
cere.” 

Dotty’s head drooped a little. “ I know 

13 


194 


DOTTY DIMPLE'S FLYAWAY. 


It, auntie ; I do sew the nicest ; but 1 
was afraid it wouldn’t be polite if I told 
it just as it was, and Prudy so good to 
me, too.” 

“ If she is good, is that any reason why 
you should tell her a wrong story Y 9 re. 
marked the plain-spoken Susy, giving a 
twitch to her tatting-thread. 

“ Children,” said Mrs. Clifford, laughing, 
14 do you remember those hideous green 
goggles I wore a year ago ?” 

“ 0, yes ’m,” replied. Grace ; “ they made 
your eyes stick out sol Why, you looked 
like a frog, ma’, more than anything else.” 

“ Well, a certain lady of my acquaint- 
ance was so polite as to tell me my gog- 
gles were very becoming.” 

“ 0, ma, who could it have been ?” 

w I prefer not to give you her name. I 
appreciated her kind wish to please me, 
but 1 could not think her sincere.” 


FULL NIPPERKIN. 


1115 


“0, Susy,” said Grace, “if you could 
bave seen those goggles ! A little basket 
for each eye, made of green wire, like a 
fly cover l Ma, did you ever believe a 
word that lady said afterwards ?” 

“ Flatterers are not generally to be trust- 
ed,” replied Mrs. Clifford. “ Flyaway, that 
is the fourth needle you have lost.” 

Here was another lesson for Dotty’s 
memory-shelf. “ 1 must not say things that 
are not true, just to be polite. It is flat- 
tering and wicked ; and besides that, people 
always know better.” 

It was a quiet, busy, cheerful day. Dotty 
forgot to complain of the weather. Just 
before supper Flyaway jumped down from 
her grandpapa’s knee, where she had been 
talking to him through his “ conversation- 
tube,” and ran to the window. 

“ Why, ’tisn’t raining,” cried she ; “ true’s 
I’m walking on this floor ’tisn’t raining I ” 


196 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


Dotty clapped her hands, and watched 
the sun coming out like pure gold, and 
turning the dark clouds into silver. 

“We were patient and willing for it to 
rain,” said she ; “ but of course that wasn’t 
why it cleared off.” 

And it wasn’t why Flyaway lost her 
thumb-nail, either. She lost that — or half 
of it — in the crack of the door. The 
poor little thumb was very painful, and 
had to be put in a cot. 

“ It wearies me,” said Flyaway ; “ it makes 
me afraid I shan’t ever have a nail on 
there again.” 

Her mother assured her she would. Tka 
same God who calls up the little blades of 
grass out of the ground could make a finger- 
nail grow. 

“Will lie?” said Flyaway, smiliug 
through tears ; “ but ’haps He’ll forget how 


FULL NIPPERKIN. 


197 


it looks. Musn’t 1 save a piece of my 
nail, mamma, and lay it up on the shelf, 
so lie can see it, and make the other one 
like it?” 

Mrs. Clifford put the nail in her jewel- 
box, and I dare say it may be there to 
this day. 

Just as Flyaway, in her nightie, was 
having a frolic with Grace,, there was a 
sound of wheels. The stage, which Horace 
called the “Oriole” because it had a yel- 
low breast, was rolling into the yard. 

“It’s my mother — my mother,” cried 
the three Parlins together. 

Yes, and who was that little girl getting 
down just after her? Her hat covered her 
eyes. “ It isn’t Tate Penny ! ” Why, to 
be sure it was! There was her dimpled 
chin; and if that wasn’t proof enough, 
there was the wart on her thumb* 


198 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


To think such a glorious thing as this 
could happen to Dotty ! and she not the 
best girl in the world either! A visit 
from her bosom friend! “Aunt ’Ria, do 
you understand? Aunt Louise? Gracie? 
This is Tate Penny!” 

“Who asked her to come? How did 
she happen to be with mamma, the same 
day, in the same cars?” 

Well, grandma Parlin invited her to 
come. “ When one lives in an India-rub- 
ber house,” she said, “ a few people more 
or less make no difference at all. She 
wished Dotty’s ‘ nipperkin ’ of happiness to 
be full for once.” 

And it was: it ran over. There were 
joyful days for the next fortnight. I could 
never draw the picture of them with my 
pen, even if I had the paper left to put 
it on. They kept house under the trees; 


FULL NIPPERKIN. 


m 

they baked their food in a brick oven 
Horace made ; they gave a party \ they had 
boat rides ; they had swings ; they never 
went into the house unless it rained ; they 
were never cross to one another, or rude 
to Jennie Vance : it was like living in 
fairy-land. 

It was a, glorious summer. I almost 
wish it had not come to an end ; though, 
in that case, I suppose I should never 
have stopped telling about it. By and by 
vacation was over, and Tate went off in 
the same stage with the Parlins. You 
could never guess wnat ene and Dotty each 
put so carefully into their bosoms, to keep 
• 4 forever.” It was a splinter of the dear 
old barn where they had had such good 
times jumping ! 

Three weeks afterwards the “ Oriole” 
drove up to grandpapa Parlin’s again, and 


200 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY. 


this for the Cliffords. Flyaway danced 
into it like a piece of thistle-down. Every- 
body threw good-by kisses, and the stage 
rattled away. 

And after that, dears, as Flyaway will 
say to her grandchildren, “ things went into 
a mist.” And this is all I have to tell 
you about the Parlins, the Olinorus, and 
the Willowbrool lime. 


SOPHIE MAY’S “LITTLE-FOLKS” BOOKS, 


LITTLE PRUDY. 

“I have been Wanting to say a word about a book for children, 
perfect of Its kind — I mean Little Prudy. It seems to me the 
greatest book of the season for children. The authoress has a genius 
for story-telling. Prudy’s letter to Mr. ’Gust us Somebody must be 
genuine ; if an Invention, It shows a genius akin to that of the great 
masters. It is a positive kindness to the little ones to remind their 
parents that there is such a book as Little Prudy.” — Sprtngflell 
Republican. 


LITTLE PRUDY’S SISTER SUSIE., 

“ Every little girl and boy who has made the acquaintance of that 
funny ‘ Little Prudy ’ will be eager to read this book, in which she 
figures quite as largely as her bigger sister, though the joy? and 
troubles of poor Susie make a very interesting story.” — Portland 
Transcript. 

" Certainly one of the most cunning, natural, and witty little hook*, 
we ever read.” — Hartford Press. 


LITTLE PRUDY’S CAPTAIN HORACE. 

" Those are such as none but Sophie May can write, and we know 
not where to look for two more choice and beautiful volumes — Susie 
for girls and IIorace for boys. They are not only amusing and won- 
derfully entertaining, but teach most effective lessons of patience, 
kindness, and truthfulness. Our readers will find a good deal in them 
about Prudy, for so many things are always happening to her that the 
author finds it impossible to keep her out.” 


■BOPHIE MAY’S ••LITTLE-FOLKS” BOOKS. 

r„„ — * 

LITTLE PRUDY’S STORY BOOK. 

" This story book is a great favorite with the little folks, for it con- 
tains just sucll stories as they like to hear their aunt, and older sister 
tellpand learn them by heart and tell them 4 over to one another as 
they set out the best infant tea-set, or piece a baby-quilt, or dress 
dolls^ or roll marbles. A book to put on the book-slielf in the play- 
room where Susie and Trudy, Captain Horace, Cousin Grace, and all 
the test bf the * Little Prudy ’ folks are kept.” — Vermont Record. 


LITTLE PRUPY’S COUSIN .GRACE. 

, “ An exquisite picture of little-girl life at school and at home, ’and 
gives an entertaining account of a secret society which originated in 
the fertile brain of Grace, passed some comical resolutions at first, 
but was finally converted into a Soldier’s Aid Society. Full of life, 
and fire, and good advice; the latter sugar-coated, of course, to suit tho 
taste of little folks.” — Press. 


LITTLE PRUDY’S DOTTY DIMPLE, 

“ Dotty DiraplO is the plague of Trudy’s life, and yet she loves her 
dearly. Both arc rare articles in juvenile literature, as real as Eva 
and Topsy of * Uncle Tom ’ fame. Witty and wise, full of sport and 
study, sometimes mixing the two in a confusing way, they run bub- 
bling through many volumes, and make everybody wish they coulc 
never grow up or change, they arc so bright and cute.” 


SOPHIE MAY’S “LITTLE- FOLKS” BOOKS. 


DOTTY DIMPLE AT HER GRANDMOTHER’S. 

“Sophie May’s excellent pen lias perhaps never writ ten anything 
more pleasing to children, especially little girls, than Dotty Dimpi.e. 
If the little reader who follows Dotty through these dozen chapters, — 
from her visit to her grandmother to the swing under the trees, — lie 
or she will say: * It has been a treat to read about Dotty Dimple, she ’s 
so canning.’ ” — Herald of Gospel Liberty. 


DOTTY DIMPLE OUT WEST. 

“ Dotty’s trip was jolly. In the cars where she saw so many people 
ghat she thought there ’d be nobody left in any of the houses, she offers 
to hold somebody’s baby, and when it begins to cry she stuffs pop-corn 
into its mouth, nearly choking it to death. Afterwards, in pulling a 
man’s hair, she is horrified at seeing his wig come off, and gasps out 
4 O dear, dear, dear, I didn’t know your hair was so tender.’ Alto- 
gether, she Is the cnnninglst chick that everlived.” — Oxford Press. 


DOTTY DIMPLE AT HOME 

“This little book is as full of spice as any of its predecessors, and 
well sustains the author’s reputation as the very cleverest of all writers 
of this species of children's books. Were there any doubt on this 
point, the matter might be easily tested by inquiry in half the house- 
holds in the city, where*Lhe book is being revelled over,” — Boston 
Home Journal. 


i 


SOPHIE MAY’S “ LITTLE-FOLKS” BOOKS. 


DOTTY DIMPLE AT SCHOOL. 

“ Miss Dotty is a peremptory little body, with a great deal of human 
nature in her, who wins our hearts by her comic speeches and funny 
ways. She complains of being bewitched by people, and the wind 
* blows her out,’ and she thinks if her comrade dies in the snow-storm 
she will be ‘dreadfully ’shamed of it,’ and has rather a lively time 
with all her trials in going to school.” — Few York Citizen. 


DOTTY DIMPLE AT PLAY. 

‘‘ ‘ Charming Dotty Dijhple * as she is so universally' styled, has M 
come decidedly a favorite with young and old, who are alike pleased 
with her funny sayings and doings. ' Dotty at Play will be found 
\cry attractive, and the children, especially the girl3, will be delighted 
with her adventures.” — Boston Express , 


DOTTY DIMPLE’S FLYAWAY.' 

" This is the final volume of the Dotty Dimple Series. It relates 
how little Flyaway provisioned herself with cookies and spectacles and 
got lost on a little hill while seeking to mount to heaven", and what a 
precious alarm there was until she was found, and the subsequent joy 
at her recovery, with lots of quaint speeches and funny incidents.” — 
Forth American. 

“ A Little Red Ridlng-Hoodlsh story, sprightly and takingly told.” — 
American Farmer. 




SOPHIE MAY’S ” LITTLE-FOLKS” BOOKS. 


LITTLE FOLKS ASTRAY. 

•' This Is a book for the little ones of the nursery or play room. 
It Introduces all the old favorites of the Trudy and Dotty hooks with 
new characters and funny iucideuts. It is a charming hook, whole- 
some and sweet in every respect, and cannot fail to interest children 
under twelve years pf age," — ChrlutiQu U eg inter. 


PRUDY KEEPING HOUSE. 

'* How she kept it, why she kept It, and what a good time she had 
playing cook, and washerwoman, and ironcr, is told as only Somme 
May can tell stories. All the funny ^yings and doings of the queer- 
est and cunningesl little woman ever tiicked away in tlie covers of » 
book will please little folks and grown people alike-” — Prcsx 


AUNT MADGE’S STORY. 

“Tells of a little inffe of A girl, who gets into every concelvaBta 
kind of scrape and out again with lightning rapidity, through the 
whole pretty little book. How she nearly drowns her bosom friend, 
and afterwards saves her by a very remarkable display of little-girt 
courage. How she gets left hy a train : of cars, hhd loses her kitten 
and finds It again, and Is presented with a ha&y sistf^ ' coins down 
from heaven,* with lots of smart- and funny sayings.” — Bo&tw* 
Traveller. 


SOPHIE MAY’S “LITTLE-FOLKS” BOOKS'. 


LITTLE GRANDMOTHER. 

"Grandmother Parlen when a little girl is the subject. Of course ’ 
that was ever so long ago, when there were no lucifer matches, and 
steel and tinder were used to light fires; when soda and saloratus had 
never been heard of, but people made their pearl ash by soaking 
burnt crackers In water ; when the dressmaller and the tailor and 
the shoemaker went from kouso to house twice a year to make the 
dresses and coats of the family." — IVanScrfpf. 


LITTLE GRANDFATHER. 

"The story of Grandfather Parlen’s little boy life, of the days of 
knee breeches and cocked hats, full of odd incidents, queer and quaint 
sayings, and the customs of ‘ye olden time.’ These stories of Sophie 
May’s are so charmingly written that older folks may well amuse 
themselves by reading them. The same warm sympathy with child- 
hood, the earnest naturalness, the novel charm of the preceding 
volumes will be found In this." — Christian Metsenger, ■ 


MISS THISTLEDOWN. 


“ One of the queerest of the Prudy family. Read the chapter 
heads and you will see just how much fun there must be In it : 
‘Fly’s Heart,’ ‘Taking a Nap,*. 1 Going to the Fair,’ ‘The Dimple 
Dot,’ ‘The Hole in the Home,’ ‘The Little Bachelor,’ ‘Fly’s Blue- 
beard,* ‘ Playing Mamma,’ ‘ Butter Spots,’ ‘Polly’s Secret,’ ‘The Snow 
Man.’ ‘The Owl and the Humming-Bird,’ ‘Tain of Hunting Deer,* 
and 4 The' Parlen Patchwork.’ ” . 






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